Find Your Way Home
by Drowned-dreamer
Summary: When young Killian Jones finds himself pulled from a life as a slave to the Land Without Magic, 300 years in the future, he will do whatever it takes to get back to his brother. But instead the lost boy finds a lost girl. Will their relationship overthrow the will of Fate? Or does Fate have other plans for them?
1. Chapter 1

I had this idea. It wouldn't go away. It started to niggle at me. With the new canon about Killian's past we got in Season 5, I realized that there needed to be a new kind of LD fic, one that included his time as an indentured servant. The idea grew. I realized I really wanted to see what would happen if a young beaten and broken Killian met a lonely, frightened Emma. And this was the result. I tried to keep it in canon as much as possible, and this story will included a slight spin on the events of Season 1. It's also a Jones brothers story, as their relationship is so crucial to who Killian is. I hope you enjoy!

Big thanks also to Mryddinwilt for her help beta'ing and to Whoknowsheregoes for her support!

As always, I love to hear from you. You can respond here or on my Drowned-Dreamer tumblr account.

Pairings: CS/LD, Jones Brothers, eventual Daddy!Killian

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, panic attacks

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Ch 1: The Servant

He awoke before dawn, as he had done for many years now. With a muffled groan, he stretched out in the too small hammock, his long legs swinging over the edge with the sway of the ship. Lately, he'd noticed that it seemed like every night he went to sleep as a dwarf and woke up as a giant. (Though he had just turned fourteen, Liam kept saying not to worry about the way his body was changing, even if some of the changes seemed very strange.) While he was glad to nearly match his brother in height, soon he knew that he'd need new trousers and shoes requiring coin that neither of them could spare. Maybe if he got lucky at the next port, he'd be able to trade off a day's labor for some bigger clothes.

Next to him, he could hear Liam's soft snores; his sleep always easier than Killian's own. He couldn't begrudge his brother what little respite he could find, though. He had earned so much more than that for having to take care of his sorry self. Maybe one day, Liam would wise up and leave him behind. It would be best for everyone that way, despite how many times Liam had told him that he would never, ever leave his side.

Unlike his thoughts, at least the waves were calm this morning, as Killian slipped from his bunk and began to go about his duties. The Osprey's captain, a leathery-faced old man called Pike, liked hot tea ready for him when he woke, which would be just after the sun had tipped the horizon. But first, Killian needed to face the worst task of the morning—of the whole day, really-cleaning out the officer's chamber pots. He could only hope they hadn't been drinking too heavily last night. Nothing was worse than cleaning up those messes.

He knew from experience that it was best to eat beforehand, as his stomach never took kindly to food afterward. Killian gnawed on his morning ration of hardtack and pulled a ladle of watered down rum before he steeled himself for his task. The rum had the added effect of making everything feel distant and remote, and he was loathe to admit that he was starting to wish it was a bit stronger.

Thankfully, the hideous chore didn't take him long to finish, and he had already washed up and started the boiling the water for the Captain's tea as the first rays of sun lit the flat sea. Taking a moment before the rest of the crew awoke, Killian watched it rise, hoping that today would be an easy day. He didn't dare hope for a good day.

"Boy!" The Captain called out, shaking him from his stupor. "Where's me tea?"

Killian stumbled from the galley, down the dark and narrow hallway, splashing boiling hot water over his nervous hands, worried about what might await him inside. "Here, Cap'n," he replied meekly, as he pushed open the door to the Captain's quarters. After handing the old man his tea, he ducked back into the corner until he was needed, just as he had been taught when he and Liam's contract had first been sold off to this ship. If the Captain wanted anything, he would say so. He didn't need to be reminded of the gangly teenager standing awkwardly in the shadows.

As usual, Captain Pike ignored him while he sipped his tea and looked over his charts and maps. Killian's mind started to drift with boredom, catching himself just in time for the Captain's signal to help him dress. Quickly and efficiently, he turned to the small closet, retrieving the man's breeches, vest, and boots. He laid the clothes out neatly on the bunk, and pulled off the scarf from around his neck to give the boots a hasty polish. By the time he was finished, the old man was dressed and sitting at his desk with his socked feet extended out. Killian hoisted the boots under his arm and knelt to fit them on.

He heard the man sigh as he struggled to get the stiff leather to slip past his rigid ankle and heel. "Worst investment I've ever made. Don't know why I bother keeping you around," Pike grumbled.

Though it wasn't the first time he had heard the Captain say such things, Killian found his palms starting to sweat anyway; the boots threatening to slide out of his hands. At the last moment, though, they gave way and slipped into place with a little 'twock.'

Pushing Killian out of the way so he could stand, the old man straightened his vest and said, "Fetch Parsons and get me some biscuits to go with this tea, boy. Then you and that brother of yours need to scrub down the forecastle. Think you can at least manage that?"

"Aye aye, Cap'n," Killian mumbled, rushing out the door in relief, and sending up prayers that First Mate Parsons was in a good mood that morning. Dealing with that man when he was in a temper was never pleasant. (Although dealing with him in a good mood wasn't pleasant, either.)

He found the First Mate top side, shouting orders to the sleepy men. Though Parsons was younger than the Captain by a couple of decades, they could almost be twins. They both shared the same build, same straggly brown hair that more often than not fell out of their tie in the back–though the Captain's did have more grey in it–and they both shared the same strict, no-nonsense attitude about how to treat their crew-actually, Parson's far exceeded Captain Pike in his severity of command. He was the type of man who delighted in his power over others and made sure they all knew who was in charge. That was why Killian hesitated to approach the man at first, especially when he already seemed to be in one of his 'moods.'

"What is it, boy?" Parsons snapped, spinning on his heel to glare at him. "Stop gawking and spit it out."

Perhaps it was the condescending tone, or the sneer he always wore, but there was just something about that man that seemed to bring out the worst in Killian. He clenched his jaw tight to keep from saying something he'd regret, knowing from experience that any outburst would do nothing except gain him another scar on his backside. "Cap'n Pike wants you, sir."

The man gave him a withering glare and looked away. "Tell him I'm tending to this lot of lazy arseholes and I'll be there shortly," his tone brokered no argument.

Biting his lip, Killian looked back at the stairs to the Captain's cabin, unsure what to do. If he didn't come back with Parsons, Captain would no doubt box his ears. If he argued with the First Mate, he'd be lucky to get off with a box about his ears.

"Why are you still standing there like a stunned mullet? Didn't you hear what I told ya? Or are you too stupid to understand what I said?" The man was standing so close, Killian could smell the reek of rot from his breath and struggled in vain not to pull away. Wanting to appear tough and unafraid.

"No, sir. I mean, aye, sir," Killian answered, his voice cracking out.

Parson's shook his head, and locked his hands behind his back, like he was getting ready to teach a lesson. "You're absolutely worthless. You know that, boy? Why the Captain took pity on you and decided to buy your contract with your brother's, I'll never understand. But never you fear. Soon I'll be Captain of this ship and your life will belong to me. And I have no use for stupid, lazy children who can't even string two sentences together." He stopped pacing and turned with a vicious smile, his cold brown eyes daring Killian to fight back.

Parsons' glare turned to disgust when there was only silence as an answer. "Well? Run along and relay the message to the Captain before I have to remind you how to follow orders on this ship." He stood up his full height, the implied threat hovering in the air between them..

However, the First Mate's words had already done their job, and in their wake, Killian faltered. His mind flashed back to a vision of being much younger and feeling frightened of a storm. Father towered over him, bringing with him a sense of safety and love. Only now those memories were corrupted. Father had not only left, he'd sold them off.

Suddenly, it was as if his mind had decided to replay all his failings one by one. Father didn't want him. He didn't love him. No one could. He wasn't worth it. He was a scrawny, clumsy, stupid kid who couldn't even follow the simplest of orders without messing them up. Not like Liam. Liam was strong and capable and he always knew just what to do. Maybe someday Liam would tire of taking care of his wretched little brother and cast him off to like the dead weight he was. Then he'd truly be alone.

The thoughts kept coming, racing faster than his galloping heart, and though he knew Parson's was still staring at him, he couldn't slow them down. The feeling of helplessness strangled him, crushing him beneath its weight. "I—" Killian suddenly flailed, his heart stuttering in his chest and his breath coming in great wheezes. He couldn't swallow. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't…

"I'll do it, sir," Liam called out, as he miraculously appeared at his side. Not giving the man a chance to react, he tugged on Killian's sleeve, breaking the thrall he had been in. Hastily, Liam pulled him along the stairs, as the First Mate's eyes followed them both with unconcealed loathing.

"What's wrong with you?" Liam asked when they were below deck, worry lacing through his voice.

With a hand clutching on to his brother's arm no doubt hard enough to bruise, Killian swiped at the sweat sliding down his brow with his other hand. Though he wasn't fully back to himself yet, there was something calming about his brother's presence. Not knowing how to answer, he could only shake his head.

Liam pressed him up to the side of the hull, checking to make sure they were out of sight of any of the crew, and took a long look at him. Killian could see the genuine worry in his brother's eyes, and it made his heart feel like the moments after a squall, when the dark clouds parted and the sun burst through the cracks.

No, he scolded himself. Liam wouldn't leave like Father. It was the only sure thing he knew and he clung to it as a drowning man clings to a buoy, scraping with his nails and trying to find purchase in any way he can.

"I'm sorry, Liam," Killian stammered, his breath slowing and becoming steadier. "I don't know what happened."

Liam's look softened as he nodded, tugging at Killian's neck affectionately. "I believe you. I think you were just frightened."

"Was not!" Killian cried, his sense of pride momentarily overwhelming his other feelings.

With a smile, Liam pulled back and ruffled his hair. "It's okay. I won't tell anyone."

"Shut up, Liam," he grumbled, running his hand through the dark strands in a fruitless attempt at getting them back into place. Suddenly recalling why they were here, his head shot up. "Cap'n's going to kill me. I was supposed to fetch Parsons, but Parsons wouldn't come."

Taking a moment, Liam nodded to himself and scratched at his ear. "I'll handle the Captain. Was that the only order he gave you?"

"No," Killian said, trying to recall the orders, "he…he wanted some grub...and then we were to scrub the forecastle."

"Alright," Liam agreed. "You go along and start the cleaning. I'll pass along Parsons' message,"

Killian opened his mouth to argue, but Liam gave him a little push along the hallway. "And Killian," he added, calling out just before he ducked into the Captain's quarters, "whatever you do, don't piss off Parsons any further."

"I didn't!" Killian argued.

With a tired look, Liam sighed and said, "I know, but you know he likes to try and goad you into things, and he'll no doubt be holding that little display out there over you for weeks. Just…"-he paused and ran his hand down over his face-"try to stay out of his way, little brother."

Anger flared in him, but one arched brow from his brother quenched it before it could spark to life. Begrudgingly, Killian nodded his agreement. "Alright, brother. As you wish."

…

Most of the wood on the starboard forecastle was scrubbed down by the time Liam returned. What should have taken his brother only minutes, had taken most of the morning, and when he saw the tousle-haired head of his brother rising from below deck, the nervous ball in his stomach had settled into a dead iron weight at its bottom. His worst fears were confirmed the moment Liam approached. There was a new bruise above his brow that hadn't been there that morning. Killian squeezed his brush so tightly at the sight of it, his knuckles went bleach white. Inside, he was roiling with a mix of anger and guilt.

Liam gave him a sharp look that clearly meant, 'Don't say a word,' and snatched a second brush from the pail. Then, he went to the other side of the deck and began to work with more vigor than was necessary.

Killian couldn't help but sneak glances at his brother while he worked, not wondering about what happened so much (that much was obvious), but about the anger he saw in Liam's eyes. Was he mad at him? Did he blame him for the way he froze up earlier? Did he hate him for taking a beating that would have been meant for him?

By the time his part of the deck was clean, he had just about worked up enough courage to say something to Liam, even though he had drawn blood with how hard he had been biting his lip. Looking up, he saw that Liam was still scrubbing vigorously, his back turned away. In fact, his posture was so tense and he was swishing his brush around with such force, that he was surprised there wasn't a hole right through the deck. "Brother?"

Liam turned, the anger from earlier now replaced by a deep sadness Killian could never remember seeing before. The clear blue of his eyes were rimmed red and his cheeks were wet, and if Killian didn't know his brother better, he would have said he had been crying. But that would have been impossible. Liam never cried. Never. He was brave and strong. And clever. And…

"Killian, I'm sorry." Liam said sadly, barely above a whisper.

Killian scooted over on his knees, his linen trousers soaking up the scummy water. "Why are you sorry? You've nothing to apologize for." He was confused. Shouldn't he be the one apologizing? This had been all his fault. Shouldn't Liam be angry with him?

"I do," Liam declared firmly. "I have failed you. It's my job to protect you and I can't get us out of this…"

"Liam?" Killian asked, feeling very young and unsure. He didn't like this one bit. It wasn't like his brother to be this way. It made him feel as if the world he knew might not be real, and that was somewhat terrifying. "I don't understand. How have you ever failed me?"

"We're stuck here, Killian," Liam sobbed, running his free hand up into his curls and tugging tightly in order to ground himself, looking so much younger than Killian could ever remember his older brother appearing. "I don't know how long. And they can do whatever they want to us, because they own us," he spat out venomously, waving his brush towards the helm and the officers milling around. There was such a fire in his eyes that Killian flinched back at the sight of it. The movement must have startled him from whatever dark place his thoughts had taken him, because when he turned back, his look had softened into his usual caring gaze. "I hate it, brother! I hate our father for leaving us like this. I hate being a servant to those bastards who treat us like dogs. And I hate that I can't make a better life for you."

"Hey," Killian said, drawing closer and placing his hand gently on Liam's arm, sensing that this sudden outburst was probably a long time coming. After all, he felt that way all the time. Was it really that much of a surprise that Liam should as well? He knew then, that he needed to fix this, he needed to make him feel better, just as his brother had done for so long. "I hate it, too. But it's like you always say. Everything will be alright as long as we're together, right? You and me." Liam nodded at this and offers him a faint smile. Killian ducked his head, and in a smaller voice, he added, "Maybe if I just stop making things so hard for you, it wouldn't be so bad."

Suddenly, Liam grabbed his wrist. "No, Killian," he stated firmly. "This is not your fault. Yes, you're a bloody stubborn git sometimes, but you're just a kid."

Killian shrugged. "So are you."

There was a moment of silence then, when the weight of it all seemed to finally bottomed out. And it was there, at the bottom, where they could either stay in the darkness and flounder, or rise back up again to the light, that the true bond between the Jones brothers would always be strongest.

Liam took one long look at his brother and cracked a slow smile. "I'm almost eighteen, little brother. That's nearly an adult."

And Killian was floating again, far away from his troubles. Without fail, Liam always managed to bring him out of the darkness.

"Aye," Killian acknowledged with a nod. "Yet I'm nearly your same height, old man, so that's younger brother to you, if you please," he replied with a confident smirk.

"Oh ho!" Liam chuckled, leaning back on his heels, pushing his brother in the arm hard enough to unbalance him. "There's the little git I remember. About time he reappeared."

Killian swept the hair out of his face and resisted the urge to dump the wash bucket over his brother's head. "And there's the arse I remember."

They stilled for a moment to just grin stupidly at each other, each feeling the world shift back into its proper place.

Until the world decided it had other plans for the brothers Jones.

As they sat smiling, the daylight turned a strange vibrant green and a curious wind blew over the deck. Suddenly, Killian could hear the men scampering and shouting orders, but when he turned to look for the source of the commotion, he was arrested by the sight before him. Just ahead of the ship-where moments before was a calm blue sea-a giant swirling fissure had opened up in the sky.

Spiraling shades of greens and yellows encircled a deep black hole so dark it seemed to draw the sunlight in. It was nearly half the size of the ship itself already, and only appeared to grow larger as the ship sailed nearer. Killian couldn't look away, transfixed by the violent hues. At his side, Liam uttered in a hushed awe, "Bloody hell! It's a portal."

A portal? Here? Killian could scarcely believe it. They were the stuff of stories and legends; rumored to be a kind of powerful magic that could take one to whole new realms where anything might be possible. Although he had witnessed real magic a few times in the ports they traveled, most of it was of the everyday variety-imps and fairies playing in the trees, charlatans trying to catch out the unaware, healers and witch doctors selling their potions and spells. But he had never seen anything quite like this. And as rare as they were, he never thought he would see one in his lifetime.

Behind them, they could hear the men straining to turn the ship under Captain's orders, and Killian tore his eyes away in order to look down and see the wake coming off the new curve of the bow. Slowly, the ship began to slide past black mass. Luck seemed to be favoring them as it looked as though the ship would be remaining clear of the portal's draw. Killian, however, felt a profound sense of disappointment at the thought. Even though the thought of traveling to another realm was terrifying, he couldn't help but wonder what life would be like in some other world. In fact, he suddenly found himself longing for it with all his heart.

"Brother, come—" Liam began to say, and that's when it happened. The ship lurched, the starboard side dipping suddenly down towards the ocean, as if the portal had reached out somehow and pulled the ship back. Killian, who had been at the rail, grabbed on tightly to keep from tumbling into the freezing sea.

Liam wasn't so lucky. As the ship tilted, he lost his footing entirely and went somersaulting backwards, right off the side towards the ocean below. Shouting in terror, Killian reached out for him as he fell past, somehow managing to grab him with his one free hand.

The portal was hovering right above them now, pulling Liam not towards the sea, but upwards towards the strange blackness at its center. Liam's legs floated above his head, and Killian could feel the pull of the portal trying to snatch his brother away. Circling winds whipped at them, the sound of it turning everything into one giant pounding roar.

"No, no, no! Hold on!" Killian cried, straining under the combined effort of holding the rail and his brother's hand, and shaking in terror from the thought of being left alone. "Liam!"

"I—I can't. My hand is slipping!" Liam called back, eyes frantic and legs kicking out at the sky, as if somehow he could swim his way back down through the air.

In a moment of rashness and impulsivity, Killian tore his eyes from their joined hands and looked hard into his brother's eyes. He saw terror there–terror at the thought of leaving his brother behind–and suddenly, Killian knew exactly what he needed to do.

He let go of the rail.

Immediately, he felt himself be lifted from the side of the deck, flying upward to the mouth of the portal. Though he was afraid, Killian felt a strange sense of calm come over him, as he tightly gripped onto his brother with both hands. The blackness closed around them, and the whirling rush of wind began to pummel them senseless.

Just before everything went dark, Killian caught his brother's eye and an unspoken thought passed between them-it didn't matter where this portal would take them, as long as they were together.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N- The response to this idea has been really amazing. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Also, thanks again to Mryddinwilt for her fantastic beta skills!**

 **Enjoy and don't forget to review. I love hearing from you!**

 **Ch 2: The Streets**

He awoke, as usual, to darkness, his sluggish mind struggling to figure out why his hips and arms were so sore as he stretched. When he knocked his knee against something hard, it was all he could do to not cry out and wake Liam. His fuzzy brain couldn't remember how he had earned his bruises this time. Had there been a storm? Had Parsons had a grievance with him and knocked him around again?

He reached out, expected to find the rough hemp of his hammock, and instead met with hard, cool ground. Unmoving, unswaying ground.

Killian opened his eyes in a flash, swiping his hair out of his eyes in disbelief.

This wasn't the ship.

Above him, shadowed in the night sky, there seemed to be buildings of such height that for a moment he wondered if he had drunk a Wonderland shrinking potion. And then, he remembered. The bloody portal. "Liam?" He called out, sitting up and letting his eyes adjust. "What happened?"

Only, there was no answer. He looked frantically around him, finding himself alone. There was no Liam.

 _There was no Liam._

Real, true fear began to set in. Not only had he traveled to some sort of land of giants, his brother was missing.

Willing himself not to panic, he stumbled through what he knew, trying to work out what happened. His brother would never just leave him alone, he reminded himself, so there had to be some other explanation. Maybe Liam had just woke up earlier and went to look around. Maybe Liam was just thrown from the portal a little bit farther away. _Maybe Liam never made it here_ , his traitorous mind supplied.

(And deeper still, in the darker places of his mind he dared not acknowledge, an evil voice whispered, " _Maybe you're wrong and Liam finally came to see the same thing in you as Father and left while he still could.")_

"Liam!" He called again, this time, his voice breaking with desperation. "Where are you?"

Only the brush of a cold wind answered him.

Biting his lip to keep the panic at bay, Killian pushed his aching body up to his feet and began to fully take in his surroundings, looking for some clue where his brother might be. He could hear horns and odd rumblings, along with various kinds of hustle-and-bustle noises that signified a mass of people coming from all around him. No doubt he was in a village of great size, possibly like some of the great market ports he had visited years ago.

The buildings he had thought belonged to giants, upon closer inspection were really more like stacked stone houses, piling upwards into the sky. Did the people in this land like to live on top of each other? Or maybe they didn't have any trees in this world. He had yet to see any sign of vegetation where he had fallen. There was a great metal box nearby that-judging by the horrible smell wafting from it-must contain refuse, several stacked wooden crates, and a set of metal stairs that for some reason didn't reach the ground yet went all the way to the roof of the building they were attached to.

No grass, no trees. No water. Just stone and steel.

He hated this place already.

And he missed his brother. _Where the bloody hell was Liam?_

Killian wandered down the white road, finally emerging from the strangling press of the tall buildings, into a world so full of sights and wonders, he could barely comprehend. Fast moving carriages of some sort zipped past, lamps in colors he never dreamed possible lit every window, every street. People hurriedly shuffled down the stone sidewalks in every which way, no one taking any notice of a lost, dirty cabin boy. In many ways, it was like making port during festival season, but instead of throngs of people milling around the vendors hawking their wares, these people all seemed to be rushing off somewhere.

As he took it all in, his heart sank even more. How would he ever find his brother in this? It was…impossible.

 _Alone, all alone._

The strange panic he had felt the day before on the ship suddenly returned full force, dropping him to his knees as his breath left him in great shuddering sobs. His heart felt as if it were being crushed in his chest. He wanted to cry out from the pain of it all, but no sound seemed to be able to pass his lips.

Collapsing to the ground, he fought with his emotions, willing himself not to panic, not to fear. It did little good though when every cell in his body was screaming that his brother was _gone, gone, gone_.

"Son, are you alright?" A voice asked.

Killian didn't know how he managed, but somehow he shook his head. "My...brother…." He looked up.

There was a man in a blue uniform, with his name on his chest and a shiny metal star pinned to his hip. He seemed to possess the same air of authority as a royal guard or knight. Perhaps he was this village's sheriff or version of authority. Liam had always admired those men, his voice filled with a hushed awe as he explained to Killian that he shouldn't fear them, that it was their job to protect people, to help them. If Liam trusted them, maybe he should too.

"What about him?" The man asked.

Killian focused on the star and felt hope stir, blocking out some of the panic. "My brother, Liam, and I were sailing on a merchant vessel, _The Osprey_ , under the command of Captain Pike," he explained, speaking slowly and with the practiced diction Liam had taught him to use in formal settings.

(" _We aren't animals, Killian," Liam reminded him, as they hung from a makeshift scaffold and scrubbed off the barnacles that had been growing along The Osprey's hull. "Even if they treat us that way. Someday we'll be free men and it will be important to act the way civilized men do."_ )

He continued with only a slight pause as the memory came to him, as vivid as if he was still there and the cold spray of the ocean was misting his face. He shooed away the feel of sun and the smell of brine and focused on telling his story.

"It was a clear day, and the waves were calm, until a portal appeared in the middle of the ocean and we fell through. When I came to, he was missing. He wouldn't just leave me here. He has to be around somewhere."

The man frowned and his brow knit together. "You fell through a portal...on the ocean...and you landed _here_?" He took a step forward, the bushy mustache over his upper lip dipping to a frown as he studied Killian's features.

Trying not to let the man's gaze throw him, Killian wiped the fallen strands of his hair, the ones that were wet with sweat, and looked around again in every direction. Part of him half expected Liam to suddenly jump out from behind a bench or a doorway and surprise him. "Aye," he answered, "Liam went through first, so he must be trying to find me."

Rocking back on his heel, the man crossed his arms, and huffed a breath. "A portal? Like... time travel? Or outer space?"

Killian shrugged. "I don't know. Just a standard realm-crossing magic portal, I think." Why wasn't he helping him look for Liam? What was so hard to believe about his story?

" _Magic_ _portal_ ," the man said slowly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

There was something about the way the man was questioning everything that reminded him of the way the men of the ship would treat him sometimes when he was trying to explain something. As if it didn't even matter what the truth was, they refused to believe anything he had to say simply because of who he was. It made him want to lash out, an instinct Liam was usually quick to quell. Only, Liam wasn't here to remind him to calm down.

Liam wasn't _here_.

"That's what I bloody said!" Killian snapped, pushing up off the ground and letting his sudden anger steady him. Anger was easier for him to deal with than fear, anyway.

"Whoa, kid!" The guard called back, one hand held out and the other falling to some sort of object on his hip, "No need for the attitude. I can see you're upset about your brother, but what's all this nonsense about magic and portals?"

Drawing himself up with a little puff of his chest, Killian placed his hands on his hips. "Have you really never heard of magic portals before?" He scoffed. How could this man not have heard of such things? Everyone had heard stories of magic portals and the dangers of getting whisked away to faraway lands. Was he being purposely obtuse? Maybe he didn't believe him because it was such a far-fetched claim. Then again, maybe he just didn't believe some pathetic bilge rat like him. "I know how it sounds, but I assure you, it's the truth. Liam and I got pulled through to this realm by magic."

He didn't relax, but the hand at his side fell back to resting and the man quirked his mustache with a twitch of something like amusement. "So where did you come from then?"

Killian, still guarded, answered in a short, concise burst. " _The Osprey_ was carrying goods to Glowerhaven from Lir. We were in the middle of the Enchanted Ocean when it opened."

His eyes went wide and this time the man really did smile. "Kid, I don't know whether to haul you in for lying to an officer or to commend you on your storytelling."

"You don't believe me." Killian stated, slowly searching out the street around him. It was less crowded than before, but he doubted any of the passerbys would help him if it came to it. He was a young boy dressed in rags from a foreign land. There was no way they'd take his side.

The man rocked back a bit on heels, giving Killian just enough room to breathe and think straight again. "What I believe," he lectured, scratching his mustache and shaking his head, "is that you've got one hell of an imagination." He then paused to give a rather mirthless chuckle. "Or maybe that you're just a little shit who likes to see if he can try to pull one over on an officer of the law for kicks."

Killian could feel the anger growing behind his eyes and knew it wouldn't be long before he lost all his composure and did something rash-like try to knock the smirk off that ridiculously mustached face. This man was not how Liam described the noble guards and knights of the Enchanted Forest. The officer didn't believe a word he had told him. In fact, he was getting the same look he had often received from Parsons right before he would box his ear and throw him to the deck for his 'insubordinate mouth.'

But to flat out deny the existence of magic was a bit too far. No sane person could deny that magic existed. It was an everyday occurrence in the Enchanted Forest, as much a part of life there as kings, queens, knights, and ladies. Why would anyone bother to pretend otherwise, even to gloat? Unless...

In the next instant, Killian realized two things: One, that either magic didn't exist in the world or was so rare no one believed in it. And two, that the officer would not about to help him find his brother.

Killian swallowed hard, grit his teeth, and ran.

…..

Not knowing where else to go, Killian spent that first night curled up in the same alleyway he had arrived in. He was exhausted, bruised, and heartsick; finding no relief even in sleep. Tucking his long, lean legs up against his body, he wedged himself into the space between the putrid refuse box and the building, trying to keep the chill wind from seeping through his thin linen rags.

The rotting smell coming from the metal box kept his hunger at bay, and there were nights aboard the ship where he had spent them shivering and numb in the freezing spray, so if it hadn't been for the ever present Liam-shaped hole in his chest, he might have been grateful his circumstances weren't worse. However, as dawn approached, he still couldn't wrap his mind around all that had happened. More importantly, he knew he would have to make a decision about whether to stay here and wait until Liam found him, or to go and find him on his own.

After his experience with the people of this realm, he didn't trust going out on his own to look for Liam. There were far too many unknowns and he might end up getting so lost that Liam might never find him. Because Liam would always find him. In his heart, he knew that his brother would move heaven and earth to locate him. And staying put would be the best way to make sure that happened.

Yet he knew he couldn't just sit in the alley and wait. He needed food, shelter, and a better sense of the place he had landed. Just as long as he didn't stray too far, Liam would be back by his side in no time.

….

It was a good thing he had always been a fast learner. Within the first day, Killian had methodically explored the area around where he had landed–while scrupulously keeping an eye out for the officer in the uniform–and discovered that the village—no, _city_ —he had landed in was called Chicago. It was in a kingdom—no, _state_ —oddly enough called Illinois, in the realm of America. He also discovered that life in this realm worked in much the same way as it did in his own.

Including needing coin to purchase food and goods.

At first, Killian had tried to find some sort of way to earn his way, always hearing his brother's voice reminding him that it was 'poor form' to steal and that only honest coin came from honest work. But as the day drew on and his stomach rolled and clenched with hunger, he found himself begging at the entrance to many of the city's numerous eateries. However, other than a few scraps handed out by a few kind souls, his efforts remained fruitless. Most people here seemed to ignore him, or worse-treat him like he was rubbish.

He made do with what he could find from the cast-offs in the smaller refuse bins, toting it back to the alley where he huddled against the wall. It wasn't the first time he had gone hungry, but it was the first time he realized that Liam had always slipped him some of his own rations so that he wouldn't starve, and the thought brought out the first wave of bitter tears. Curled up on the hard, cold ground Killian fell into an exhausted sleep and dreamed of Liam beckoning him to a table laden with a feast just for them.

Days of this went on, no word or sighting of Liam, and Killian was growing more and more desperate. And angry. As food became scarcer and the nights colder and lonelier, his brother's voice seemed to dim as a new, stronger voice emerged. This one told him that he needed to stop being so weak, to stop waiting for his brother to show up and hold his hand and tell him lies about how everything would be alright. This voice told him that he was on his own now, and that he needed to look after himself for once and stop letting people push him around. In this realm, he was no longer a slave, so why should he still act like one?

That maybe it was time he _took_ what he needed.

…..

The first time he stole, it was almost too easy-a ham sandwich off a man's plate while he was distracted.

It tasted like _freedom_.

The next time, he stole a bottle of water off a cart. Then a shirt off a rack. Then a pair of new shoes. And two pairs of socks.

Every time, he told himself that maybe Liam would understand. They were things he needed in order to survive. But it got easier and easier to steal and to take things that weren't so necessary for survival. Things like gold and coin and food that just looked too good to pass up, even though he had already eaten that day.

After his encounter with the law officer, though, he knew he had to be wary of getting caught by the local authorities. He wasn't sure what the punishment for theft was in this world, but if it was as bad as that of the Enchanted Forest's-an eye for an eye, or in his case, a hand for stealing-he knew to be on guard at all times. However, it was just the thought of his first real taste of independence being snatched away that really had him nervously watching over his shoulder all the time. At least they were easy to spot with their bright blue uniforms and silver star badges.

Days turned to weeks and that nagging voice of his brother about 'good form' was turned into a faint whisper. He kept telling himself that he needed to do this to survive, that he had no other choice. His fingers became lighter, his steps faster. His plans more carefully crafted. In only a month after arriving in this land, he successfully pretended to be on a desperate search for his lost puppy and managed to snag a gold necklace, two silver watches, a stack of bills inside a monogramed holder, a box of chocolate cakes, and two bottles of a sugary drink called "Pepsi"-his biggest score to date.

At first he was elated, high off the adrenaline of yet another successful take. But as he was walking back to the place his shelter, he caught sight of his reflection in a shop window and his joy faded. It was a stark reminder of something he had slowly been coming to realize-he was changing, and not necessarily for the better.

He had long ago ditched his raggedy breeches, tunic, and vest for warm fuzzy pullovers and pants called 'jeans' that seemed to be the norm in this land-all clothes he had stolen from shopping bags or store displays. His long hair fell to his shoulders and after being called a girl by multiple people on the street, he decided he needed to do something about it. With a stolen wallet, he wandered into a barber and had his hair cut short in the style of the boys on the posters adorning the walls.

When it was over and he looked into the mirror, he almost didn't recognize himself. Though his cheek still bore the scar gifted to him by Parsons and his ears still peaked like he had elf kin in his blood, little else remained of the young servant boy he had been. Superficially, he looked just like any other boy of this realm, but on closer inspection, he could see the years of hardship reflected in his bright blue eyes. Had they always looked so sad, so broken? Or was it losing all the people he had loved that had caused him to look as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders-a child but not a child.

A true lost boy.

How would Liam even recognize him if he barely did?

….

Though he had yet to learn the real value of some of the items he had lifted, he was quickly catching on to the ways of this world. A week after running from the law officer, he had found an abandoned shop building with a busted out window that he could just squeeze through. It was a home for him of sort. There was a dry floor to sleep on, a roof overhead to keep the rain out, and no one who could bother him. All in all, it was far better than some of the places he had called home before.

His stolen goods lay in a pile near the head of a couple of wadded up blankets and towels that served as his bed. At night, when the quiet would get to be too loud in his head, he would take them out and wonder about the people they belonged to. Was the lady who had been wearing this gold necklace a kind woman with children of her own? Did the man who he had stolen the watch from arrive late back to his wife that night? In a way, he supposed this was his penance for his actions. Picturing the happy lives of all those people. Picturing their families.

He hadn't thought about family for many years. His only family was his brother, had been since Father left them, yet he could still recall what it had been like when he had been around. He didn't want to remember how nice it was to have a father-he never knew what having a mother was, she died just after he was born-but sometimes, he couldn't help those memories from coming back. It hurt, remembering how safe he had felt when his father was around. It hurt even more knowing it was all a lie.

Without Liam, he would never have a family. Without Liam, no one would ever love him. Sure, sometimes he grew curious and would follow families around, trying to figure out how they worked. He watched them-Mother and Father chatting happily with their kids on each hand as they walked down the sidewalk. Smiling. Laughing. Not a care in the world.

No, he would never have anything like that. That sort of happiness would never be his fate.

He _needed_ to find Liam. Every day without him was like living with a knife in his chest. He was changing, and not just on the outside. He could feel himself becoming someone different, someone his brother would not be proud of. Yet he was unable to stop. Maybe it was wrong, but he couldn't help but feel an odd sort of pride in what he had accomplished, 'bad form' or not. He had lost Liam, but he hadn't crumbled into dust. He had become stronger. Become a survivor.

Yet his fears ate at him. What if he went too far in the name of survival and did something Liam wouldn't forgive him for? He couldn't bear the thought of being (more of) a disappointment to him. Liam didn't deserve to have a brother that was such a screw up. He deserved a brother that never stopped trying to be the man Liam believed he could be.

Liam deserved a brother who was a hero, not a common thief.

And Killian knew a hero wouldn't give up. A hero would go to the end of the world to find the person they cared about. So maybe it was time to stop waiting for Liam to come to him. Maybe he needed to go find his brother. There had to be some way to locate him, something he could do to find out what happened. He felt ready. He felt strong enough to venture out into this unknown land.

But first, he would need money. _Lots_ of money.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. Here's some more Killy!feels. Hope you enjoy them. As always, thank you to Myrddinwilt for her insight and help, and for all of you who've left me reviews!**

* * *

 **Chapter 3: The Stranger**

With all the confidence he could muster, Killian marched into a store that offered to trade " _Cash for Gold_ " and laid two of his stolen golden watches on the counter.

"I need to trade these for coin," he stated boldly. Through careful observation and sly questions, Killian had learned that there were certain people in this world that could help locate a missing person. Of course, their services wouldn't come cheaply. He would need lots of money and a really good cover story, but the hope of seeing his brother again had driven him onward regardless of the consequences.

The proprietor, a short, bald man turned and peered down at the watches. Then he looked back up. "Then I need to see some ID."

 _Bloody hell, what was ID?_

"I...I don't have any of those," he stammered, trying to recover. "But I have gold and I want to exchange it for cash, as per the pledge on your window."

The man raised a brow and took a long look up and down at him in appraising manner. "I don't deal with kids. Why don't you run back home and fetch your daddy."

Killian gulped down his rising irritation and stared the man in the eye. Summoning his charm, he smiled, as the lie slipped easily from his lips. "Father's at work. He asked me to barter these for him."

The bald man shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I don't think so. You think I was born yesterday, kid? Let me guess, watches belonged to daddy but you're in need of weed money so you decided to hawk them while he was at work?"

Only making out about one word in five, Killian shook his head.

Glowering, the shop owner tilted his head so that the phosphorus green shop light made it glow, and pointed at the piece on his counter. "Either that or these are hot."

Killian lifted up a watch to prove it wasn't going to burn anyone-although why that was a concern he had no idea-and said, "They're not hot, they're gold, I assure you."

With a scoff, the owner tossed the other watch across the counter. "Kid, who you trying to fool? Go take this junk somewhere else. I don't need the hassle."

Devastated and more than a little annoyed by the shop owner's dismissal, Killian could see his chance at finding Liam drifting farther and farther away. Time was short and he needed this plan to work. By now, he had a good sense of the value of the green papers and the different colored coins, and he knew that he would need a great deal more than what he could steal from wallets and purses alone. This had seemed the best way to get what he needed quickly, only this shop owner didn't seem to care about that.

Liam had told him once that he could barter with the devil and still make it into heaven. Killian had no idea what that meant, but it had made him blush with pride regardless. He had always had a knack for getting the upper hand in a trade. But you couldn't trade if the other party refused to play along.

Killian clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists. "Just tell me how much you can give me for the bloody watches, mate, I know they're worth a fair coin."

"You got balls, kid, I'll give you that,' the man conceded, giving him another reproachful look. "But I ain't takin' the chance on a couple pieces that aren't even gonna buy my venti mochaccino. Now get outta here before I call the cops."

Giving him a glare that could have melted ice, Killian scooped up his wares and hustled out of there before the proprietor could make good on his threat. Knowing it was useless to continue on, and doing so would only drawn the attention of the law, he spent the next several minutes hiding in a deep doorway of an abandoned storefront a few blocks over. He was shaking so bad from his pent up anger at the way the shopkeeper had disregarded him, that it took him several minutes before he calmed enough to think rationally.

Sure he was a kid, but he knew the game. He'd been bartering with men (and women) a whole lot shrewder than that bloke his whole life. How dare he refuse to trade with him simply because of his age! And so what if the watches were stolen? Gold seemed to retain valuable in any realm. The store owner must have been lying when he said the watches weren't worth more than his _venti mach-whatever that was_.

But he knew the truth; it wasn't about the value of the watches. It was about him.

That man had barely even looked at what Killian had brought in, only really focusing on him-the way his hair hung limp and dirty over his forehead and the rips and stains in his clothes. Suddenly, he felt incredibly grimy, like he had been rolling around in refuse all day. His skin itched for a bath in the clean water, the clothes he was wearing felt suffocating and filthy. Though it was cold enough out to see his breath, he could feel his skin start to sweat under his sweater, and he wished he could just strip and jump in the ocean like he used to.

Even if he wasn't a slave anymore, some days if felt as if everyone could tell, like there was some sort of invisible mark on his forehead that only others could see; like he would carry the stigma of being the lowest of the low around with him for the rest of his life. Maybe it didn't matter what he accomplished, what freedom he had earned, or where he now lived; one truth remained-he would never escape his past.

 _("You are more than a servant, Killian." Liam told him, as he slung an arm over his shoulder and gazed out at the vast blue sea. Thankfully, his brother always knew the right thing to say after a particularly rough day under Parson's thumb. "You are a Jones. And Jones men fight for what they want..." he paused, raising a brow as he waited for his little brother to finish his oft quoted saying. But today, Killian didn't feel like playing along. So Liam poked him in the ribs until Killian looked up at him. "...Or else they deserve what they get, eh?" He teased. And in the light of his brother's smile, Killian couldn't help but smile back.)_

Lost in the memory, he was able to stop his mind from going to such dark places. He told himself that if Liam had been here, he would have kicked his sorry arse back to the Enchanted Forest for giving into such thoughts when he was on a mission. Now was not the time to get distracted, he reminded himself.

Finally pushing aside his morose thoughts, Killian closed his eyes, and tried to come up with a new plan to get the money. Thankfully, there were a dozen more shops just like that one who might be willing to trade with him. Surely not all of them would treat him as the last one did. He just needed to prepare a little bit more for the next time so that he could easily answer any probing questions. Maybe he could clean himself up a bit better, and maybe look into this 'ID' thing, too.

With new plans and strategies running through his head, he didn't even notice the shadow that fell over him as he left the safety of the doorway and headed back towards his home.

"What are you doing?" Someone asked. It wasn't an unfriendly tone, just curious.

Trying to look unworried, Killian squinted and held up a hand to block out the late-afternoon sunlight so that he could get a better look at the speaker, ready to run if need be. Surprisingly, he saw a young, dark-skinned man dressed in black jeans and a large maroon sweater leaning back against the storefront window. With his arms crossed and an easy smile, he looked perfectly at ease, as if he hadn't a true care in the world.

On his right hand, he bore a large crimson jewel that looked like a burning flame in the red-orange glow of evening sun. Automatically, Killian walked forward to get a closer look at the ring. Realizing he was about to do something stupid like get close enough for the stranger to grab him, he stopped a few paces back and tried to work out his next move. Though he knew he should just flee now rather than risk it, something held him back. Regardless of whether the stranger was dangerous, curious, or just wanting a friendly chat, it had been a long time since Killian had a conversation with anyone and a part of him loathed the thought of just walking away.

Besides, he reasoned, maybe something useful could be gained from him.

Deciding that he needed to get a handle on this man's game, Killian mimicked his posture, bracing his shoulder against the window and giving him his best intimidating look.

"I'm...I..." Killian stammered, suddenly unable to come up with anything to say. It felt as though his words were stifled, the lies that normally came so easy to him for some reason weren't getting past his lips.

Pinning him under his intense gaze, the stranger quirked a brow at Killian's floundering and his smile grew even wider.

Finally, he managed to get out, "I'm waiting on my brother." He gave the man a gloating little smirk.

The young man stared at him as if trying to read the truth in his eyes and then let out a chuckle. "Are you? Looks like you're up to something."

Irritated by yet another accusation, Killian glared up at him expecting to see a gloating look, and was utterly confused by the amusement twinkling in his dark brown eyes. It had been so long since anyone besides Liam looked at him with anything other than disgust, anger or even indifference, that he had no idea how to respond to it.

As usual, when he was faced with something he couldn't understand, he defaulted back to defensiveness and snark. "What's it to you, mate?"

Undeterred by his outburst, the interloper smiled wanly like he was expecting to be met with hostility. In a cool, smooth voice, he said, "Believe it or not, I'd like to help you."

This compassion in the stranger's eyes made Killian feel like his skin was about ready to crawl off his body. "Bugger off, I don't need anyone's help," he hissed, eyes darting to the now empty street for a way out.

Holding up a hand in surrender, the man took a slight step back. "You're right. I can tell you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself."

Killian frowned up at him, trying puzzle him out. The feeling of being cornered went away as soon as there was space between them. He didn't feel the need to run, but he was still conflicted. Why would a total stranger seem sad about not being able to help?

"But I'd like to offer you a bit of advice anyway, if you'll let me," he offered, pausing to rub the ringed finger along the black stubble of his jaw with what seemed to be nervous anticipation.

Killian wanted to snap back that he didn't need some stranger's advice, and he certainly didn't need this man's judgment. But judgment wasn't what he saw in the man's eyes-it was concern. But why? No one ever looked at him that way, like his opinion mattered to them.

Even though his ire was gone, he was reluctant to let his guard down completely. So he crossed his arms and gave him an unimpressed look that clearly meant for him to continue.

This gained him a pleased smirk from the other man. "I have to admit, I've always liked the attitude."

"Is that really your advice?" Killian asked incredulously.

"No, no," the man chuckled. "Just an observation." He pointed to a metal bench and waved his hand in an offer to sit down. Killian followed him warily, but refused to take a seat and instead stood stiffly nearby. Perfectly at ease, the man stretched out his long legs and leaned back, looking up at the rapidly darkening sky.

"The name's Merlin," he said without turning, like he wasn't expecting a reply.

So Killian didn't give him one. He just wrapped his arms around him to keep the chill out and nodded.

Though it was much harder to see the night sky in the city than it was back on the ocean of his realm, Killian followed Merlin's gaze and noticed that he could already make out a couple of stars where the orange of sunset turned violet-blue. He was disappointed to realize that none were the ones he knew. At that, a strangling sense of loneliness and longing came over him and he collapsed onto the bench next to the odd young man, feeling overwhelmed with the need for comfort from the presence of another person.

A warm hand was placed on his shoulder, and he heard the man say, "I'm sorry," with such a weight to his words, that Killian felt as though he was offering to apologize for more than just intruding upon him. It was like he was trying to make up for his entire sad life. It was a bit overwhelming, to say the least. But it did help to ease some of the ache in his heart, if only temporarily.

He found himself suddenly wanting to confide the truth of his circumstances to this stranger. Killian had the feeling he wouldn't laugh or judge him for it. All the words were there, waiting to burst forth and be expunged, but he just _couldn't_. If he let them escape, he worried that everything else would spill out with it-his fears, his loneliness, his anger, his pain-all of it in a desperate, mad purge of emotion.

Sharply, he bit his tongue, unable to take the chance he might be wrong about Merlin's intentions. Instead, he just sat on the bench next to him in a companionable silence, staring at the sky and waiting for night to fall. The city noises blurred to a soft murmur and the lingering cold breeze that he had been dodging for weeks ceased.

It was the most peaceful he had felt in ages, he realized.

The man remained stretched out, the hand with the ring still heavy on Killian's shoulder; not as a gesture of control, but one meant for comfort. His eyes remained looking up at the sky as he spoke.

"You know, I'm not sure why a kid such as yourself would need money bad enough to try and trade off stolen jewelry, but I would imagine you must have a pretty good reason if you're willing to go to such lengths."

Ah, Killian thought, so he did know about the watches. Yet he didn't seem like he was trying to turn him into the law. This felt more like a conversation his brother would have had with him when he made a mistake. He resisted the urge to run off and instead replied, "You could say that."

"Then I wouldn't bother with the pawn shops," Merlin explained. "They'll require you to show proof that you're at least eighteen. No offense, but you don't exactly look like you could pass for an adult. Even if you could, they'd more than likely take advantage of you. Unless you know their true worth, you'll never get a decent amount for your goods. You're better off trying to get the money you need some other way. Maybe one that doesn't involve breaking the law, eh?"

"I've tried," Killian replied, his hopes of finding Liam quickly growing fainter with each moment. " but I can't... _earn..._ enough on my own, and time is pressing."

Merlin nodded, accepting this reasoning. "I see," he said, his finger going back to stroke at his chin. He sighed, watching the pass of the motorized carriages. Killian snuck a glance over at him when he hadn't said anything for a minute, and noticed the man's penetrating eyes were now distant and cloudy.

As if noticing he was being watched, Merlin trembled and sat up, clapping his hands on his knees and flashing an apologetic smile. "Well then, I'm sorry I wasn't able to be more help. But if you change your mind, there's a very nice old man, Mr. Wazowski, who owns that grocery store, just there" -he pointed to a small shop just across the street that Killian hadn't noticed-"who'd gladly offer you a job. Perhaps, if you ask, he'd even hire you as a cashier."

Through the large glass window, Killian watched as a short, pudgy man with an eye patch took items from a customer and slid them over something on the counter that seemed to tally them up. With a slight sneer, he spoke gruffly to the customer as she handed him a stack of bills and snatched her bagged items away. Killian doubted that this Mr. Wazowski would be all that thrilled to offer a job as Merlin implied.

"What's a cashier?"

Smiling to himself, Merlin answered, "That's the person who totals up the customer's purchases and then takes their money, which gets stored it in that metal box thing he has sitting on the counter. Look, you can see it through the window." He pointed again and Killian saw the shop owner stuffing the woman's money into a sort of drawer underneath a strange button-laden contraption.

"Um," Killian faltered as he tried to process all this new information. "That seems like a generous offer. Why would he hire me?"

"He might not look like it, but he's got a real soft spot for kids," Merlin explained with a chuckle.

"Right, mate. Thanks for the advice," he stuttered, finding that the back of his neck suddenly felt very itchy.

"You're quite welcome," Merlin smiled, turning back around to face him. "And thank you for sticking around and listening." Then he let out a loud sigh and rubbed at his jaw. "However, I'm afraid to say that my time is up." Without a word of farewell, he rose off the bench and began to walk away.

Tamping down on the sudden flutter of panic, Killian rushed after him, calling out, "Wait!" before he even knew what he was saying. Uncertainly, he sorted through his jumbled thoughts and managed to ask, "Will you be coming back?" .

Merlin stopped, his shoulders hunching as he turned around. There was guilt in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I would love to be able to stay-truly-but I'm afraid that I've done all I can."

Killian blinked and stiffened, still unable to figure out what exactly he wanted to say. He couldn't figure out if he was angry that the man was leaving after giving him such cryptic advice or just hurt that he was being left alone yet again. Either way, he felt a tightness gripping his chest and his mouth go dry as he struggled not to let any of it show on his face.

Apparently, he wasn't as good at hiding his feelings as believed he was, because Merlin dropped to one knee, and motioned for him to come closer. "Look, I know things must be bleak for you right now," he sighed, bracing him with his hand, and giving him another strangely apologetic look. "But I've always believed that as long as you hold on to hope, you can make it through anything."

Hope? Hope was a concept so foreign to Killian that he had almost no reference. The only thing it recalled was the feeling of his brother's firm, strong arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Ruffling his hair in a move reminiscent of one of Liam's, Merlin stood back up, tall and majestic. Killian just remained standing there like a statue as he warred within himself.

Giving him a strange little smirk, Merlin added, "Remember to be good, Killian," and with his ring now glinting violet in the light of the street lamps as he waved, turned and slipped into the shadows of the night, lost to the dark and the stars.

…

Early the next day, Killian came back to the bench, and watched the grocery store across the street. He knew he wouldn't be seeing Merlin again, but a part of him still kept one eye out for his tall, dark form. After he had left, Killian returned home, taking the long way, and feeling almost as empty as he had that first night he had arrived. It hadn't occurred to him just how lonely he was until he had someone to talk to again, and he spent the night feeling completely hollow and broken.

By dawn, he had managed to throw off some of the ache by reminding himself he had a job to do-finding his brother. Maybe Merlin had been right and holding onto hope that he would see him again helped him make it through. Or maybe it wasn't hope as much as he knew he that if he didn't keep going forward, his demons might finally overtake him.

Merlin's advice of getting employment at the store would no doubt be the honorable thing to do. But as he watched the money change hands, the way it all collected into the mechanical box, all Killian could think about was how much easier it would be to just go over there and _take_ the money instead. He argued that if he got paid a pittance like he did back in his realm, it would take months or even longer in order to earn enough to find Liam. And how would he get by in the meantime? If he had learned one thing from talking with the stranger, he knew that he couldn't wait. He couldn't be alone that long. He needed Liam, and he needed him _now_.

Taking the money box was the best way-the _only_ way. He knew from his observations that it would likely contain lots of of money; more than enough to find Liam. All it would take would be to get it without being seen, or caught, or stopped by someone inside the store.

Carefully, he watched the shop for hours, noticing that there was still only the rotund, one-eyed old man minding the shop. Though Killian thought he didn't seem like the kind-hearted man Merlin described-especially after he yelled at three customers for talking too loudly, one for smelling his produce, and one for not having exact change-he didn't seem like much of a threat. There had been no law officers patrolling this area all day, and for the most part, pedestrian traffic in this neighborhood seemed fairly light. All he would have to do was slip in, pretend to shop around, and wait until the man moved away from the counter. Or, failing that, one of his 'tales of woe' might send the man into action. Then, all he would have to do was grab the box or the money and run like hell. Altogether, it would almost be too easy.

Just this one last score and then he was done. Surely Liam would understand that. Didn't a hero do everything he could to get back to those he loved? Even breaking the law?

Too bad Killian was never very good at being a hero.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N-THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE AND REVIEWS! Seriously, it's been amazing. I'm glad you are all enjoying this.**

 **Quickly, though I just wanted to answer one question that keeps getting asked: Where's Emma?**

 **She's coming...probably in Chapter 7. Sorry it will take that long, but I don't want to rush Killian's journey. This is his story, and he still has a lot to go through. However, I hope the feels in the next few chapters will make up for the lack of CS. But it is coming, I promise! Hang in there :)**

 **And again, a huge thank you to mryddinwilt for her wonderful beta work and character insights. This wouldn't be half the story it is without her!**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: The Sheriff**

"I'll ask you again. Where are your parents?" From behind Killian, the officer in charge leaned over so that he was almost breathing down his neck, and slammed a fist down on the table.

It was clearly meant to be intimidating, but Officer Taylor–as the man had introduced himself when he had first entered the room–clearly had no idea who he was up against. Killian had been jostled from the car, dragged through some odd sort of torture they had called "processing" in which they inked his fingers and had him dirty some sort of plate, pat his body down from stem-to-stern and remove all the collected items from his pockets, and then securing him with irons to a chair in some sort of officer's cabin. Then, Officer Taylor arrived, and had begun asking questions. He kept saying things like " _help me help you_ ' and ' _we don't have to do this the hard way."_ Killian couldn't bring himself to care in the slightest. And he was definitely not in a mood to be _helpful_.

In a lot of ways, Officer Taylor reminded him of many of the sailors he had grown up around. He was older, thin but muscular, with a lined face that looked like it had been chiseled out by a hard life. However, Killian doubted this man would have lasted a day as a member of _The Osprey's_ crew. From looking around what he assumed was this man's cabin, he could see pictures of him with a lovely older lady, scattered pictures of children and a dog, him with his fellow officers. In each one, he was smiling and carefree. Whatever hardness was in this man's life was not because of a lack of friends or family. He probably had no idea how lucky he truly was.

The inquisition had been going on for the better part of an hour, as Officer Taylor asked a slew of questions and Killian refused to answer a single one. It wasn't as if he was purposefully being obstinate, however, most of the questions Killian really didn't know how to answer. He knew from his previous experience with the law of this realm that they wouldn't believe the truth and anything else he might say would probably be immediately spotted as a lie. Silence seemed the best option, and Killian had to admit a very small part of him was enjoying the officer's increasing frustration. Too bad it was the only thing he was enjoying.

Killian was no optimist and he expected that any minute now, the officer would realize that he would never get the answers he wanted and this verbal interrogation would end. Then that, he assumed, was when the physical interrogation would start. He wondered if they used the lash in this realm. Or was there some other sort of torture they had devised? He had seen a man keel-hauled once, and had lived in fear of it ever since, but he had heard plenty of tales of even worse forms of punishment for those who truly wanted to inflict pain. Preparing himself for the worst, he remained silent, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and stared at the wall behind the officer's head.

The longer he sat, though, the more he couldn't help but think about how he had ended up here. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have gotten caught? He had made sure no one had seen him go into that store. He had made sure the owner was totally distracted by a well executed spill of oranges. However, not five minutes after he jimmied the lock on the metal drawer, scooped out all the cash into a small tote bag and sprinted out the door, a black-and-white motorized carriage bearing a blindingly bright swirling lamp began following him, and two of the blue-uniformed law officers had given him one hell of a chase.

He had ran for all he was worth, but they clearly knew the city better than he, because right before they caught up to him, he turned down an alley that ended jarringly not twenty feet from where he stood. Before he could even think of an alternate route of escape, he was being tackled and slapped in irons. Marching him unceremoniously through sparse crowds of curious onlookers, he was shoved roughly into the back of the carriage and taken away.

Under any other circumstance, getting to ride in one of the mechanized carriages would have made him giddy with excitement, but the heavy guilt crushing his chest kept him from even noticing the ride. He had no idea where they would take him or what they would do to him. For all he knew, he might land in the dungeons, or have his hand cut off, or even executed at dawn.

But the most horrible thought of all was ' _How was he supposed to find Liam now?_ '

The shame of his actions felt like it was trying to erupt out of him. He fought to remain stoic, but all he could focus on was regret. Why didn't he listen to his brother? He knew, deep down, that what he was doing was wrong, and yet he had tried to justify it. Liam would be furious. He would tell him that he had thought he had taught him better than that. He would say that pilfering another's possessions was very bad form and scold him for making excuses to the contrary. If he ever saw his brother again, that was.

Killian swallowed down the rising queasiness in his stomach and turned his focus back onto his immediate fate. Officer Taylor didn't act condescending like the first lawman he had encountered in this realm, nor was he cruel like Captain Pike or his First Mate. Though he was clearly frustrated by Killian's silence, he had yet to lay a hand on him. However, Killian knew better than to let his guard down. If he showed them any sign of weakness, it would be over. So, he did what he could to appear unbothered, took his fears and guilt and shuttered them away under the heaviest locks he could devise, and vowed that the only emotion he would show these people was cold indifference.

As Officer Taylor finished his questions, a young woman also in uniform with her hair tied back and carrying a yellow folder under her arm, entered the room and spoke softly to him. "Sir? The prints came back negative," she relayed, leaving just as soon as her message and the folder were delivered.

"Shit," Officer Taylor cursed softly, running his hand through his thinning grey hair. A moment later, he stopped pacing and pulled out a heavy chair next to Killian, the metal scrape noise filling the heavy silence. Scooting closer, he let out a long breath, and the anger that Killian had felt radiating off him before slowly began to dissipate. Unfortunately, the pity in the man's eye only infuriated Killian further, but there was an honesty there that kept him from truly lashing out.

Sighing, the man pleaded, "Look, son, I want to help you. I don't know what you're running away from, but if you got problems at home, we can help you out with that. I just need you to talk to me. Otherwise, I'm going to have to lock you up and, between you and me, I really don't want to do that."

Killian shrugged, and turned his gaze away from the wood-paneled wall to stare at the officer. "I've been in places far worse. Your threats don't frightened me, _guard_ ," he spat.

Whether it was because it was the first time Killian had uttered a word, or if it was the vehemence in his voice, the officer flinched and pulled away. Now staring intently at him as if he didn't know what to make of this angry, scrawny boy, Officer Taylor suddenly frowned and asked, "You have?"

"A brig's a brig," Killian replied, giving the man a defiant look as if he was daring him to prove him wrong.

That seemed to unnerve him a bit, and the officer's face fell. For the first time since he had been brought in, Killian felt as if the other man was truly seeing him-worthless orphan, useless slave, broken lost boy-and it must have unsettled him greatly.

For several minutes, the older officer remained staring at young Killian, like he was trying to work out the truth. Killian maintained his stare, not willing to back down from this challenge.

After a beat, Officer Taylor cleared his throat and looked away. Killian counted that as a win.

Suddenly, he asked, "You a Brit, kid?"

Thrown off by such a random question, Killian squeaked as he answered with, "A what?"

The officer's lip ticked up at the slip and Killian redoubled his efforts at maintaining his stern mask. "Are you British? You've got an accent," the officer pointed out.

He did? Killian hadn't noticed it before and he was fairly certain he spoke the same way as his brother and the other sailors he had known.

Humming, the officer tilted his head and closed his eyes, like he was trying to remember something. "Yeah, sounds British. Or Irish, maybe?"

Killian shook his head, genuinely confused. British? Irish? Where those places in this realm? Races? Maybe, like Elves and Dwarves? "No," he answered honestly, though now very confused. Why was he so concerned about the way Killian spoke?

Again, Officer Taylor nodded. "Okay. So you from here, then?"

"No."

The man leant forward, asking softly, "Where's home for you?"

Maybe it was the way the officer had asked with such genuine caring, that for a second, Killian let his defenses slip without even knowing it. "I—Nowhere."

With a long sigh, the officer fidgeted in his seat, still trying to pin Killian under his intense gaze. "Look, you've got to give me something. Family? Friends? Anyone?"

Killian could feel his carefully constructed walls crumbling. It was too hard to keep up the act when this man was being so sincere and when his heart was screaming that all it wanted was to find his brother and shelter himself in his strong arms and pretend that none of this was real.

"I promise you, kid, I just want to help."

Bloody hell, this man was starting to get under his skin. Maybe he was telling the truth, maybe not, but as Killian was coming to realize, what choice did he really have? He was chained to a chair, locked away and surrounded by guards. He might never get out of here if he didn't give them something.

With a shuddered breath, his eyes fell to the floor and he said, "There's my brother. But I don't know where he is. We got separated when we arrived here."

Almost instantly, Officer Taylor perked up, grabbing a notebook and pen from the desk. "And when was that?"

"Near three months ago."

"And you've been alone all this time? Living on the streets?"

"I had a place in an unused building where I was staying."

"How did you get by?"

Killian remained silent, but the officer didn't push him to answer. Instead, he frowned and nodded his head as if he understood what Killian wasn't saying. The pen scratched wildly at the paper, and Killian began to wonder what he was writing.

"Nevermind then. Let's go back to your brother. What's his name? Maybe we can track him down," he said eagerly.

For a moment, Killian thought he had misunderstood. "Wait. You can?" Surely, after all he had tried in order to find his brother, it couldn't be that easy, could it?

With a hesitant sigh, the officer placed the paper and pen back down on the desk, his excitement dissipating with an apologetic smile. "I don't know. Maybe. I'll see what I can do, but I'm going to need to know everything you can tell me about him."

Immediately, a warm sensation flooded through him- _hope,_ he thought _, this must be what hope feels like_ -and Killian began to run through every single thing he could think of to describe his brother.

"Liam. His name is Liam Jones. He's seventeen. Brown hair, but not like mine. Lighter, kind of curls up around his head. Blue eyes. Um, a smidge taller than me. And strong, very strong" He bit his lip, thinking furiously. "Oh! And he had a bit of hair growing on his chin and cheeks, here and here," he said, pointing to his own face with his unchained hand. "I told him he wasn't man enough for a full beard and he shaved it off, so I don't know whether he's still..."

"Whoa there, kid! Slow down!" The man's scribbling was suddenly the only to be heard in the room, as he wrote down all that Killian had told him. "That's a pretty good description, but what I really need is a number or an address I can reach him. Maybe a school he went to? A job? Friends?"

Killian shook his head.

"And there's no one else? No other relatives or anyone else you can contact?"

Again, Killian shook his head, feeling like he might vibrate right off the end of his chair with nerves. "There's only just been me 'n Liam since Father left us."

This earned another pity filled look, but Killian was less bothered by it this time. He'd gladly be the recipient of whatever looks the officer wanted to throw his way as long as it got him his brother back.

"Okay," Officer Taylor finished, looking over his writing and standing up from the chair. "I'll put it out there. Sit tight, kid."

Gathering up his notes, the man gave Killian a reassuring smile and left the room, securing the door behind him. Killian remained staring at the door, his thoughts racing at a frantic pace.

Liam.

They were going to help him find Liam. His chest tightened, and his fingers drummed anxiously against his thigh. They were going to help.

With any luck, he might be with his brother again in days. Maybe even hours.

After what felt like an eternity in limbo, Officer Taylor returned. Killian studied his face eagerly to see if he could read what he had found in his eyes. They remained guarded, however, and Killian felt the burgeoning feeling of hope turn to a hard pit of dread in his stomach.

"Hey there, kid," the officer began with a false smile that only made Killian even more wary. "We put out an APB on your brother,"-briefly explaining what 'APB' meant when he saw Killian make a confused face at him-"but it might take a while to find him. In the meantime, we've got a couple of choices here," he slid his notebook onto the desk next to the yellow folder and took his seat back.

Killian wanted nothing more at that moment than to shut his eyes and pretend he couldn't hear what would surely come next. He could read it in the man's eyes. They couldn't help after all and he was a bloody fool for believing they could even for a second.

"I'm going to be real honest with you," Officer Taylor began, and Killian rolled his eyes. "You were arrested tonight for attempted robbery. That's a heavy duty charge. Mr. Wazowski, though, hasn't pressed charges yet, in which case, normally you'd be free to go. However, without a legal guardian to release you to, we aren't allowed to just let you go back to the streets. Which means we'll have to turn you over to Child Protection Services until such time as one comes forward. That's best case scenario." He paused, as if trying to make sure everything was sinking in. Unfortunately, it was, even if Killian wasn't sure what a 'Child Protection' service did.

Taylor looked at him, and ran a hand through his greying hair before he continued. "Worst case, Mr. Wazowski presses charges and you go to juvie for the next four years. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Killian stared at the wall as he answered. "You didn't find my brother."

"No, not yet. We're still looking, I promise you. But the truth is, it might not matter even if we do find him. According to you, he's a minor, too. And unless he's more forthcoming about who your parents or guardians are, there's not much he's going to be able to do for you. Kid, it's time to lay all your cards out on the table. Who are you? Where are you from?"

Locking his jaw, Killian remained stubbornly silent.

"You've got to give me something here, so I can go back out there and explain to Mr. Wazowski exactly why he shouldn't bother getting you arrested. Understand?"

With a cocky smirk, Killian replied, "Aye, I understand. I tell you the truth and you don't lock me in the brig."

"Well, yes, I suppose that's accurate enough. So," he prompted, leaning in again, "let's start with something easy. What's your name?"

They wanted him to play along? Fine, he play along. What did it matter anymore? Immediately, he answered with a sharp, "Killian Jones."

Officer Taylor sighed with relief. "Good. Thank you," he huffed with indignation, but proceeded to write it down on his paper. "Do you have parents?"

"No. Mother died when I was a babe. Father left many years ago, _as I said,_ " he retorted.

"Okay. Jeesh. You mentioned that you got separated when you arrived here. Where were you before?"

"On a ship."

"On a ship. Really?"

"Aye."

"Which one?"

" _The Osprey."_

"Okay, okay, I'll bite. Truthfully, I don't have a clue what is and isn't true with you at this point." He threw the pen across the desk so that is skimmed across it and landed on the floor. With a shake of his head, Taylor got up and retrieved it, his shoulders slumping as he laid it on the desk. "I suppose I owe you something, after all, you did answer my questions." He leaned his hip against the desk, crossing his arms and looking up at the ceiling. "So this is what I'm going to do. I'm going to go and have a word with Mr. Wazowski, see if I can't convince him to drop the charges."

Killian shrugged, no longer willing to trust anything the officer promised.

"You wait here," he said, walking over towards the door. "It might take a little while." At the door he paused, as if remembering something and he crossed back over to where Killian was sitting. From his pocket, he produced a small set of keys and he flipped through them until he found a small silver one. More gently than Killian expected, he reached down and unfastened the lock on his cuffs. As he stood up, he placed a hand on Killian's shoulder and in a voice both surprising and tender, he said, "In the meantime, can I get you something? When was the last time you ate, kid?"

Again, the caring in the man's voice threw him, and Killian answered with more honesty than he had intended. "Last night, I think,"

The hand left his shoulder but the officer didn't walk away. Instead, he nodded and scratched at his silver sideburns. "Well, I'll have the guys scrounge something up for you. And you might as well sleep while you can. You're probably in for a long night," he added, motioning towards a brown leather bench of some sort before finally leaving.

After Taylor was gone, Killian paced around, checking to see if there was a way he could sneak out of the room. However, tests of the door and the window showed that both were locked up tight. He could see the shadow of someone just outside the frosty glass of the door, so it was likely that any noise made would only serve to call their attention. There wasn't much helpful on the shelves behind him, either, and the desk drawers were locked up tight. Seeing no other recourse, he collapsed onto the bench. Now that he was alone, the exhaustion from the day's wild emotions finally caught up with him and he was yawning painfully before he was even aware of laying down. A second later, and he was out cold.

He was awakened what felt like only minutes later, by the gentle shake of his shoulders. The female officer from earlier was standing there, a plate containing a ham sandwich and a bag of thin, crispy potatoes he had learned were called 'chips' held out to him. He took it, and the can of Pepsi she offered, and immediately began to scarf down the food in unmannered bites.

"I guess you were hungry," she chuckled, watching as he stuffed his face as full as he could of both the sandwich and the chips, alternating his chewing with sips from the soda can.

He shrugged in response.

"They said you were living on the streets awhile because you lost your brother," she said not as a question, but a statement of fact. To her credit, there didn't seem to be any pity in her eyes when she looked at him, only understanding. "It must be hard to be alone and have to take care of yourself."

She was a pretty young woman with dark hair and vibrant hazel eyes, that reminded him of the sunrise. Her voice was like the soothing lap of waves on the hull when it was calm. Everything about her felt gentle and soft, and maybe that was why he felt himself letting down his guard with her. Or maybe he was so drained that he just didn't feel like fighting anymore. Either way, he found the urge to throw up a mask and hide hadn't returned.

He nodded slowly in answer, suddenly finding it hard to finish the last bites of food. "I always had Liam before."

"You were pretty close with your brother, then?" She asked, taking the empty plate and setting it aside.

He was grateful for the reprieve, and he used it to get a hold on his emotions. "Aye. He was all I had." Though it hurt to talk about Liam, it made him feel closer than he had in months. Looking down at a fray in his blue sweater, he began to pick at the string. "And as long as I had Liam, I knew I'd be alright."

She breathed heavily for a moment, watching him play with the loose thread until he finally looked up at her. She gave him a tight-lipped smile and said, "He sounds like a good person."

His eyes stung with sudden tears, and somehow he managed a choked out, "Aye. The best I ever knew."

Lowering herself next to him, the woman took his hand and held it gently, waiting until he was ready to continue speaking. It took him a moment, but eventually the pain in his chest subsided and he was able to look her in the eye without fear of breaking down.

"Look, Killian," she sighed, "we are trying to find him, but neither of you are in the system. But that doesn't mean we're going to let you be all alone again."

Curious, he asked, "What do you mean?"

She glanced back at the door, just in time for it to open and for Officer Taylor and a red-haired woman in a sharp grey suit and heels to come in. Quietly, she whispered to him, "Don't worry. It's all going to be okay." Then, she stood and nodded to Officer Taylor and the new woman, slipping out the door just after.

He watched her go until he could no longer see her shadow and he wondered if she would be coming back. However, before he could dwell on that thought, Officer Taylor was asking him to come and join him at the desk where he and the new woman were already sitting. As he sat, he couldn't help but wonder if she was bringing him news of his brother.

Officer Taylor was the one to break the awkward silence, introducing the woman as Ms. Hannigan, from the _D-C-F-S_ , a title which meant nothing to him.

"Liam?" He asked instead-a name which _did_ mean something to him.

"Still nothing, I'm afraid," the officer conceded, his smile dimming then brightening as he cleared his throat and said, "Good news, though. Mr. Wazowski has decided to drop all the charges."

Killian sagged with relief. No charges meant no brig. Which meant he still had a chance to find his brother. Maybe everything would be alright, just as the woman officer had said.

But Officer Taylor wasn't done speaking. "Killian, Ms. Hannigan is here because she is your social worker." He paused, as if waiting for a reaction from him. "Do you understand what that means?"

He shook his head.

"Killian," Miss Hannigan interrupted, her voice high and a bit grating to his ears, having the opposite effect of the other woman. She leaned over and took his hand, but there was very little kindness in the gesture. Killian glared back at her, not missing the way it caused her to dig her sharp red nails in ever so slightly into his skin. "I'm going to make sure that you get placed with a nice family who will look after you and take care of you. They'll make sure you have everything you need, including an education. I'm sure you will be quite happy there."

In no way did he believe a word she was saying. Clearly, she was trying to hide the truth behind some fancy dressing. Maybe he wouldn't be locked up in the brig, but his life would no longer be under his control regardless. He failed to see how this offer was any better than his life before.

"So, I'm being sold into service again," Killian growled, anger turning his stomach. He felt utterly betrayed. They had lulled him into complacency with a promise of finding his brother and a few kind gestures. How could he have been so foolish? Was this all a ruse to get him to go willingly back into a life of servitude?

He leveled a glare at the officer and asked, "How much am I to owe on my contract? I believe I am allowed that much."

"Wait, what?" Officer Taylor sputtered, nearly falling out of his chair. "What are you talking about?"

Killian rolled his eyes. He could recognize when the game was up, there was no need for them to pretend otherwise. It was his own bloody fault for believing them in the first place. But perhaps there was still a chance to turn this around. Surely nothing could be worse than his service aboard _The Osprey._ If he played along and gave them no reason to be suspicious, perhaps they wouldn't need to keep him under guard all the time. Then, he could easily slip away from his captors and lose himself again. He had already learned just how easy it was to not be found. "Just tell me."

"There is no service contract, Mr. Jones," Ms. Hannigan explained. "Foster care is simply a way to help young people like you who have no one to look after them. You will be in the system until such time as a viable guardian can be found or until you turn the legal age of eighteen."

 _Eighteen_! Four more years? He balked at the thought. "And if I refuse?"

Ms. Hannigan took his hand, tightening her grip painfully, clearly a signal not to try and mess with her. This, he was familiar with, and he flashed her an overly bright smile that showed all his teeth.

"I'm sorry, Killian," she said without even trying to sound sincere, "there is no refusing. Legally, this is what is required in cases like yours. But I promise you, foster care isn't what you think it is. And I already have a very nice family that would love to look after you. Maybe, if you're lucky, they might even adopt you. Now, there are some forms-"

"I have a family. My brother, Liam. He's all I need," he spat.

With a cruel smile, she replied, "Yes, well, he isn't here, is he?"

Killian blanched, and Officer Taylor finally seemed to have caught onto the undertones in their exchange.

"All right, Ms. Hannigan, that's enough." Hastily, he shoved the papers the woman had brought with her back into her arms and pushed her out the door, ignoring her protests. Once she was gone, he sighed, and took his seat next to Killian. "I'm sorry about that. She gets a little uppity sometimes. I don't think she actually likes children. But don't worry, you won't have to deal with her for long, I'll make sure you get reassigned to her assistant, Ms. Honey."

"Thanks," he grumbled, tracing the seam of his jean with his hand. He might try to act sorry now, but Killian knew Officer Taylor couldn't be trusted.

Placing a hand over his to still it, Officer Taylor smiled sadly down at him. "Killian, she's right, you know. Foster care is not so bad. You might actually like it. And wouldn't it be nice to be a part of a family? I'm sure your brother would want you safe and happy and finding a family to take care of you doesn't mean you care for him any less. Wouldn't you like that?"

Killian shrugged again, not knowing what to say. The possibility of having someone to care about him again was making his resolve waver. More than anything, he was just tired of being alone. After all, Ms. Hannigan was right-with his brother nowhere to be found, he really didn't have a family. Maybe this was his chance to see what having a family could be like.

Maybe it was something he wanted a lot more than he was willing to admit.

And if foster care wasn't all they were promising it would be, then he'd just run away and find Liam on his own.

With his hands clenching tightly, he closed his eyes and replied, "Bloody hell, I'll do it."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N- So sorry for the lateness of this chapter update. To make up for it, I give you basically a double chapter. However, I apologize now for the ending... On the plus side, this is it for the angst for a while. The next few will be good things, and Killian finally meeting Emma (and her meeting Killian)!**

 **MUCH MUCH THANKS to my beta, mryddinwilt for all her work on this chapter. She turns my crazy rambling ideas into something much more coherent than I could ever do on my own.**

 **Also, thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! I am really overwhelmed at the response this has been getting. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

 **Chapter 5: The System**

Confirming his earlier suspicions, the second shuffled him into her black mechanized carriage, she informed him that placing him with a family might take awhile. For the time being, he was being taken to something she called a 'group home,' which was essentially a collection of children in similar situations overseen by a 'house parent' who was responsible for their needs.

"An orphanage, then," Killian clarified, just so there would be no further confusion between them.

Ms. Hannigan was quick to disabuse him of that notion. She prattled on and on about how the word 'orphanage' might be considered offensive and that he should refrain from using it as it might be triggering to the other kids-whatever that meant.

Truly, he couldn't care less what kind of label they chose to slap on it, he had no intention of staying in the bloody place. He nodded absently to her diatribe and continued to watch the streets pass by, straining to remember the pattern of their travel in case he needed to find his way back. In his hand, his fingers fiddled with the small card Officer Taylor had given him. He had no clue what he was supposed do with it, yet he couldn't bear the thought of it getting lost.

 _("I know you're worried about your brother, so if it helps, I'll give you my number," Officer Taylor had said, as he held out a hard piece of rectangular paper to him. It was covered in writing, but the only word that he could make out was his name. On the back, handwritten in blue ink, was a series of numbers. "You can call me anytime for updates. I'll have to warn you, though, it might take some time to locate him."_

 _Killian had merely nodded and took the paper from the man's hand, barely lifting his eyes off the floor. Now that the moment to leave approached, he was second guessing his decision more and more._

 _Suddenly, there was a stern, but warm, hand on his shoulder and Killian looked up to meet Taylor's concerned gaze. "Hey, it's going to be alright."_

 _It wasn't, Killian knew that, but he nodded anyway._

" _This is only a temporary thing, you'll see. I'm sure we'll find your brother in no time."_

 _Killian wanted to yell about how wrong he was, but somewhere, a tiny candle-flicker of hope held him back. His heart so desperately wanted to believe the man's words, even if his head couldn't. Instead, he shook off his emotions and squared his shoulders back. If he was going to do this, to trust his fate to these people, he was bloody well going to do it on his own terms._

" _Aye," he responded, then turned to address the redheaded social worker who was lounging at the door with a bored expression while she pretended she wasn't eavesdropping on their conversation. "Let's get on with it, then," Killian said._

 _Ms. Hannigan startled at her inclusion and ungracefully pushed herself off the door, motioning for him to follow.)_

And now, here he was, travelling in her car towards an unknown future.

"This is an amazing opportunity for someone like you," Ms. Hannigan informed him. This was at least the third time she had pointed out this fact to him, every time making it more and more clear exactly what she thought of 'children like him.'

"Saffron Hill Boy's Home is ran by an old friend of mine. I think you'll like it there. I know you're upset about not getting into a foster home, but boy's like you just don't get placed in nice families very easily. You should consider yourself lucky to being going to a place like the Hill. Do you have any idea how many kids would kill for this? Thankfully, the man who runs it is a close personal friend of mine and he agreed to take you on short notice or else you'd be staying at the jail until we could get your paperwork finished. You really should be thanking me."

She prattled on in this way the entire journey, never really stopping for an answer from him-for which he was incredibly grateful- until they pulled up in front of a tall, narrow house, bordered by an unfriendly yard and one miserable drooping tree. An old, harried-looking man in a grey tweed jacket greeted them at the door and waved them in out of the cold.

"My dear Ms. Hannigan!" He exclaimed, bending down to kiss the knuckles of the furiously blushing social worker.

"Fagin," she cooed, giggling at him like some milk-maid. Killian rolled his eyes and fought back the urge to be ill. Farther inside, he could see several pairs of eyes belonging to what he assumed were the other children intently trained in his direction. Suddenly, he was pulled back by the scruff of his neck to Ms. Hannigan's side. "And this is little Killian."

"Oh, aren't you a dear boy!" Fagin smiled, giving his cheek a good pinch. Briefly, Killian wondered how much trouble he'd be in if he bit the man's fingers off and spat them in Ms. Hannigan's face.

This simpering exchange of flirtatious remarks between the adults and belittling remarks towards him went on for several more minutes, until finally Ms. Hannigan insisted she had to leave. Blowing Fagin a final farewell kiss, the redhead twirled around and was gone.

Fagin sighed dreamily, then seemed to remember Killian was present and still standing awkwardly in the middle of the entryway. His eyes narrowed and sharpened, taking him in, before he rearranged himself back into the false friendly smile he had been wearing earlier.

Killian felt as if he had been judged, found to be at least somewhat satisfactory, and then deemed unimportant all in the same breath.

Hastily, Fagin led Killian up a grand staircase to a room with three sets of double bunks and little else. "There's your bed, dear boy. Drop your things and come greet the others," Fagin commanded.

Bluntly, Killian informed him he didn't have anything to drop, and Fagin's smile dropped at the tone. The next instant, he was being ushered back down the stairs to the room where he had seen the others before. All in all, there were eight others, ranging in ages from what looked like seven or eight to seventeen or eighteen. None of them were smiling or looking the least pleased by his appearance. In fact, most of them didn't even look at him at all. As Fagin made the introductions, Killian didn't bother to remember their names, knowing he wouldn't be sticking around long enough for it to matter. The bored expressions on the other boy's faces told him they were doing the same.

Shortly after, he was fed a small meal of some sort of greyish meat on bread, a glass of water, and potato chips, told lights out was in ten minutes and was promptly left completely alone. He didn't think it was possible to miss his brother more, but now he knew he had been wrong.

It didn't take long for him to realize that life in the boy's home worked the same as his life on the ship. Like some of the crueler sailors, the boys would try and trip him as he walked by, sometimes whispering threats of violence for no reason. During meals, when Fagin's attention was elsewhere, the others would snatch the food from his plate. He repeatedly caught boys looking his way and laughing among themselves, not even trying to hide that they were making fun of him.

He knew going to his 'house parent,' Fagin, was absolutely useless. For the life of him, Killian couldn't understand why a man like him had chosen a life in charge of unruly children. Even if he would have moments of sharp astuteness, mostly he seemed to be the type to jump at his own shadow. And the boys, all eight of them, seemed to take every opportunity possible to harass and tease him-sometimes almost cruelly. Yet Fagin, for his part, laughed at their antics, rubbing their heads affectionately and calling them his "dear ones," as they snickered behind his back. More than once, Killian suspected he might not be all there in the head.

He had been at the group home for three days and the only words spoken to him by the other boys were insults. In some ways, he felt more alone than when he was living on the streets, except now he had the added bonus of threats against his person if he stepped out of line.

 _Sod it_ , he decided, and made up his mind to run away that night when the rest of the house was asleep. Killian hadn't been idle in his time there, using his isolation to learn as much as he could about the house, and more importantly, how to escape it.

Sometime around three bells, he slid quietly from under his thread-bare covers and dressed quickly in the darkness, double-checking the pocket of his trousers for the card from Officer Taylor. In addition to a viable escape route, he had also learned that the numbers on the card were some sort of code for being able to speak to someone through a device called a 'phone.' He had watched Fagin carefully as he dialed the numbers into the device mounted on the wall and observed how he communicated to an invisible person on the other end. It didn't seem like that complicated of a task, but he hadn't found an opportunity to sneak away and use the 'phone' for himself to try out that theory.

Surely, there would be opportunities elsewhere once he left this place. Wherever that might be.

That was the other problem, Killian had no idea where he was going. All he knew was that he couldn't remain here. He assumed that he would be able to go back to living like he had before, even though the thought of going back to stealing to survive ate away at his conscience. Still, Liam would understand why he had to leave. How could he ever call a place like this home?

Quiet as a mouse, Killian slipped on his shoes and snuck down the stairs, easily evading a moaning step he had noticed his first day, lithely bounced to the landing, and headed straight for the door. He knew the lock might be a problem, but he didn't expect one that needed a key to open it from the _inside_. _Wonderful_ , he thought ruefully. Tiptoeing back through the great room, he made his way to the back exit in the kitchen. It, too, had the same locking setup. What kind of place has locks that keep people in? _A brig_ , his mind replied unhelpfully. All the more reason to get the bloody hell out of here.

 _Right, so the doors were out._ Squaring his shoulders, Killian mentally ran through all he knew about the layout of the house. On the ground floor, there were heavy bars at the windows-" _For keeping you all safe and sound as a pound, m'dear boy," Fagin had explained, giving him what should have been his first clue about this house_ \- and nothing but sheer drops out of the upstairs windows.

Blast it, he was going to have to do it the hard way then.

Climbing cautiously up the stairs, Killian made his way back to the bedroom he shared with four other boys and went right to the large window between their bunks. Checking over his shoulder to make sure his movements hadn't woke the others, Killian looked out the window to see if there was any way out.

A thin sliver of moonlight showed him that there was a narrow pipe bracketed to the side of the building. _Brilliant_ , he thought with a smile. _Just like climbing the rigging on a ship._ However, looking again showed him that the pipe was coated in a thin layer of ice and the insubstantial girth would make finding a hold very difficult. If he should fall, the only thing below him was a hard, snow-dusted gravel yard, and a broken ankle would make running away nearly impossible. Yet he was confident he could do it. After all, he'd been scrambling up and down the rigging lines since before he could walk.

With a deep breath, Killian flipped the latch and lifted the window. Immediately, he was hit by a blast of cold air that went right through both of his shirts. He cursed the fact that he no longer had the stash of warm clothes he had collected and threw his leg over the ledge.

"What do you think you're doing?" A voice snapped behind him.

Half in and half out of the window, Killian turned to see one of the older boys had woken up and was giving him an angry scowl from the side of his bed on the top bunk.

"Leaving, what's it bloody look like?" He answered in a harsh whisper, and reached out for the pipe.

"You're doing it all wrong," the boy remarked in an arrogant tone.

"I know what I'm doing," Killian hissed.

"Oh yeah?" The boy asked, shifting so that his arms were lolling off the top of the bunk and giving Killian a knowing smirk. "Then I suppose you know that _that_ pipe is barely attached to the wall and if you put any weight on it at all, it will come loose and you'll fall and probably break your neck." He rolled back, so that only his voice remained to taunt Killian. "Not that I care, but the last time someone tried that, Fagin withheld desserts from us for two weeks for all the trouble it caused him. And I really like my desserts."

Hesitating with his hand loosely gripping the freezing metal of the pipe, Killian cursed his luck and turned his head back to the room. "Are you going to stop me then?" He whispered.

The boy stuck out his head just enough so that only his spiked blonde hair and eyebrows peaked out from the edge. "No, just don't go that way and I'll show you how to pick the lock on the front door. It's how the rest of us do it."

Already, Killian felt the lull of the warm room and the promise of the boy's words softening his resolve. But he had already been burned far too many times to try and grab for hope with both hands again. "Why should I trust you?"

With a long-suffering sigh, the boy swung his body out further so that he could use his hands. The movement dislodging his blanket and it puddled over the side, much to his annoyance. "Look, I get it, dude. I can see you're new to this game. Let me tell you how it works, then, okay? We have to give you shit because that's how we see what you're made of. It's just the way things are done."

"I still don't see why I should trust you," Killian repeated.

The boy grabbed at he blanket and shifted it back around his body, the whites in his eyes glowing in the darkness as he rolled them. "Fine then, go if you want, I don't give a crap. Just close the damn window. It's really freaking cold, dude."

Killian hovered a moment longer, undecided now about his plans. Yet, the words had already done their work, and before he could think about it, he was shuffling himself back into the room and closing the window against the chill air. Immediately, his body thanked him for the warmth by stinging and burning along the hand that had spent time outside.

Approaching the bunk of the boy who had promised to help him, Killian tamped down on the voices that told him how nice it felt to have someone to talk to again and that maybe they could talk more in the future if he just stayed in the house.

"Well?" He asked instead. "Show me."

"Dude," the voice slurred sleepily. "Later. I'm freaking tired."

Growling and cursing himself for trusting the word of a stranger, Killian saw no real options except to get back into bed and try to sleep. Tomorrow, he promised himself, if he hadn't learned to pick the locks, he'd just go out the window and take his sodding chances. Besides, it would give him time to find some warmer clothes, too.

The next morning, Killian woke to see the spiked-hair boy sitting at the foot of his bunk, his bright green eyes dancing with amusement. "You cry in your sleep. Did you know that?"

Bloody hell. Why hadn't he left last night again?

Killian shifted, trying to remove his feet from under the weight of the boy sitting on top of them. Chuckling, the boy tilted his head in an appraising manner. "So what's your story, then?"

"Bugger off," Killian growled, tugging his blanket up around his chin and turning his head toward the wall.

Quick as a flash, his blanket was stolen off him. "Not that I care," the boy said with a taunting smile, "but I'd like to know you aren't going to set me up if I tell you how this place works. A friendly conversation is all I ask."

Oh, Killian knew _this_ game. Pretend to be friends only to use what information you learn to make the other do your bidding. Or sometimes just to see them suffer and squirm. He had been the victim more than once by the ship's crew and had only been saved by Liam's intervention. "Aye, I spill my guts to you, then you have something to use against me, should need arise. Is that it?"

A slow smile curled up the boy's lip and his eyes grew more appraising. "Maybe I was wrong about you after all, dude. You seem to have a good idea how this works." In a flash, he held out a hand in front of Killian's nose, and said, "Name's Dawkins, Jack Dawkins. Everyone here just calls me 'Dodger' though, 'cause I'm great at getting out of trouble."

Warily, Killian took the proffered hand and shook it, giving his own name in reply.

Dodger scooted back, leaning against the pole of the bunk, one knee popped up, like he had nowhere else to be. Killian couldn't see any of the other boys, and he assumed they were all down at breakfast. He wondered why no one was looking for them, but Dodger didn't act like time was at all pressing.

"See?" Dodger said, "that wasn't so hard. Now, Killian, what's your story? How'd you end up here at the beautiful Saffron Hill Boys Home?" He waved his hands through the air motioning to the cracked ceiling and peeling green paint on the walls.

Killian crossed his arms and turned his head away again, refusing to get sucked into this game.

Shrugging, Dodger said, "Fine, don't tell me. Have fun breaking your neck."

Bloody hell, he was cornered and Dodger knew it by the way he made no real move to leave. He continued to stare at the wall for a minute more, silence hanging between them. Finally, Killian knew he'd have to play along in order to get the assistance he needed, so in a small voice, he answered, "I got separated from my brother."

"That's it?" Dodger scoffed, but his tone remained light and playful, trying to throw Killian off his guard. "C'mon, dude. There has to be more than that. Start with that accent. You ain't American. Where are you from?"

"Not here."

"Right," he drawled out slowly, rolling his eyes for added measure. "I can see we're going to be best buds." There was another long pause before Dodger blurted, "You like Mario Brothers?"

"Who?" Killian asked, his confusion overriding his stoicism.

The smile returned to Dodger's face and he tilted his head like he was cataloguing the answer for later use. Killian cursed himself, but couldn't figure out what he might have done differently. "That's a no. Sports more your thing then? Maybe you're into music. You seem like the broody emo-type."

"No." Killian answered firmly even though he had no idea what Dodger was talking about. The other boy lifted a brow and simply sat there, clearly waiting for Killian to share something. After debating with himself about whether to simply keep the other boy waiting for an eternity, he reluctantly broke the stalemate and mumbled, "I like to read, I guess. Liam taught me using the charts in Captain's quarters. And I used to have a book Father left behind, but Parson's found it one day and tossed it overboard. Said the fish would make better use of it than I."

Without even realizing it, he had said far more than he had meant to. No doubt he had given away more than enough loot for Dodger to hold over him.

Dodger whistled lowly. "That's harsh, dude." Surprisingly, there was understanding in his eyes, not spite, and Killian felt himself marginally relax. "Okay then, see, we're talking," Dodger said with a smile, his hand gesturing back and forth between them. "Liam, that your brother?"

Killian nodded. "Aye."

Dodger frowned briefly, as if something had just occurred to him. "Did you guys live on a ship?"

"Spent my life at sea," Killian replied, his chest puffing up in response. He might have just been an indentured cabin boy and lackey, but sailing was a noble profession, one which he thought might very well run through his blood, if his brother's natural ability at it was any indication.

"Cool!" Dodger exclaimed, punching him in the arm. "That's really cool!"

Eyeing him warily, and rubbing his now sore shoulder, Killian gave him a look that was half confused, half hurt. "Aye, I suppose sometimes it was cool, but it could also be quite hot."

Dodger threw his head back and laughed. "No, not cool like that, dude. Cool like 'awesome' or 'rad.' Man, you really aren't from here. I guess there's a lot more I need to teach you than picking locks. Should you decide to stick around, that is." He added with a knowing look.

Killian swallowed back the sudden burn in his chest at the offer to stay and belong to something. But he knew what he needed to do. "I can't stay here."

"Why not? You got some place better to go?"

He didn't, but the urge to run was there all the same. "No, but Liam-"

"You know where he is?" Dodger interrupted.

Sadly, Killian was forced to confess the truth. "No."

With another smile and another punch to his already tender arm, Dodger stated, "Then you don't need to leave. Not yet anyway. I know this place seems crazy at first, but it's not so bad. Take Fagin. Seems like an idiot, right?"

"That's putting it mildly," Killian mumbled.

Dodger's smile grew. "That's 'cause it's all a ruse designed to put you off your guard. Don't underestimate him, he's a sly one. Not as clever as me, though. You any good at school?"

"I've never been," Killian admitted, feeling a bit thrown by Dodger's rapid-fire questioning.

"Whoa. Really? How'd you pull that off?" The other boy asked with no small amount of amazement. Then, before Killian could open his mouth he answered his own question. "Oh, the out-at-sea thing, I guess. Man, you're lucky. I'd love to get out of having to go to school."

Perking up at this, Killian smiled to himself. Maybe he was better at this game than he had thought if he was getting a confession out of Dodger so easily. "Really? Why?"

"Schools the worst. Boring subjects, horrible teachers. At least lunch is free and there's plenty of peaches ripe for picking, if you get my drift."

Sitting back, aghast, Killian made a face and said, "They make you pick fruit?"

"What?" Dodger replied, his brow furrowed. "No. I mean there's a ton of idiots who come to class loaded with daddy's money. Freaking easy pickins, dude."

"You're a thief?"

"I am an _artiste_ , is what I am," the other boy replied proudly. "Don't worry, I'll show you how it's done. A face like yours should come in handy."

Ignoring the strange comment about his face, Killian frowned and stated, "I'm already familiar with how it's done." Warning bells were ringing in his head, reminding him that he couldn't go back to a life of crime, not if he wanted Liam to not detest him. Now, here he was, right back in it.

(Yet, there was still another part of him that recalled the rush he got when he made a clean getaway with his loot. It made his fingers itch with the prospect of being put to use again.)

Dodger studied him for a moment, head leaning back on the wall and his green eyes focused intently. "You got caught, didn't you? _That's_ how you ended up here."

Despite himself, Killian did have to admit that Dodger was a clever bugger. He nodded in reply, knowing it would be useless to try and deny it. "I robbed a store ran by an half-blind old man. I still don't understand how I was discovered."

Humming quietly, Dodger seemed to drift in his focus, as if he was in deep contemplation. Suddenly, he sat up and snapped his fingers loudly. "It was probably the security cameras. Those things can be hard to spot."

"What are those?"

Dodger leaned in, his eyes growing dark and wicked as his lips curled up into an evil smirk. "Oh, _my dear Killian_ -as Fagin would say-you have _so_ much to learn."

As it turned out, Dodger was an apt tutor. Killian learned so much about this new land and how the system worked, that it felt like the knowledge would start leaking out his ears. Firstly, though, he learned how the phone operated so that he could keep in contact with Officer Taylor, little good it did him. Days turned to weeks and no news of Liam's whereabouts was forthcoming.

In the meantime, it was little surprise how easily he slid back into a life of crime. Dodger taught him not only to pick locks, but how to sneak silently through the house, how to pocket items from the local shops without getting caught, and how to concoct a believable cover story should all else fail.

As it turned out, Dodger wasn't the only thief at Saffron Hill. It seemed that all the boys living there were well versed in the art in one form or another. Fagin, Killian quickly learned, was the mastermind behind it all. He was a master con man, able to, as they say, _talk a giant spotted feline out of its spots._ With a heavy hand, he kept a firm rein on 'his dear boys' and when they failed to produce the results from a score that he was expecting, he had a violent temper. Mostly, though, he let them do as they pleased, so long as they didn't call attention to their little operation. Killian learned that his effortless charm combined with his clever, quick fingers and well-practiced adaptability made him the perfect thief, a _true find_ , according to Fagin. In fact, he commented more than once that Killian was so good, it was like he was born to it. (Considering his father's history, Killian couldn't argue his point.)

In addition to mastering the art of the steal, he was quickly learning what typical teenagers did in this realm. He liked watching the television and playing video games, even though he sometimes found them to be annoying and confusing. He enjoyed the various types of physical activities this realm offered, such as baseball, basketball, lots of other games involving differently shaped balls, bike riding, and his favorite-skateboarding. It was Dodger who introduced him to it. He possessed a long black board with bright yellow wheels that he would use to weave and coast his way around town, sometimes scoring a purse or a wallet as he passed by an inattentive victim. On days Dodger was busy running schemes for Fagin, he sometimes let Killian use it. Killian loved the pitch and sway of the board, reminding him of trying to keep his footing amid storms at sea. He also picked up quickly on the various ways to twirl and flip the board in order to perform "tricks" he had seen others do. But it was the sensation he got when he soared down the sidewalks as fast as flying. For a moment, he could leave all his fears and demons behind and just feel free again.

Then there was school. Some days it felt like a whole new realm all on its own. Even so, Killian was surprised to learn how much he liked the subjects being taught, and how nobody really seemed to question his lack of knowledge about things like American History and Biology. Apparently, most of the other children didn't know those things, either. Social interactions were far more intimidating. With Dodger taking him under his protection, he had nothing to fear from the more vindictive, older kids. No one messed with the Saffron Hill boys, knowing that Dodger didn't always need his fists to make a point-he was far too good at other forms of vengeance.

Surprisingly, Killian also discovered exactly what Fagin and Dodger had been referring to about his looks and his gallantry. He found that if he batted his eyes and played up the sad little lost dog act, there wasn't much he couldn't get away with. Teachers and principals bent over backward to help him pass tests or excuse him for missing class. It came just as easily towards students, too. For a whole week, Dodger's jealousy over Killian's ability to charm the girls out of their parent's money (and out of anything else, should he have been more industrious) led to his friend ignoring him until Fagin finally blackened Dodger's eye for being ridiculous. .

During that week, Killian realized that he hadn't called Officer Taylor in almost two months, and that he had stopped scanning a crowd for Liam's curly hair. It wasn't that Killian stopped looking for Liam completely, it was just that with Dodger and the other boys keeping him constantly busy, he simply didn't have time to think about why his brother hadn't found him yet. In fact, ever since that night he tried to escape, he hadn't felt that crippling loneliness that had lingered inside him since losing Liam. Over time, the constant fear of never having someone to care for him had gone away, the pain when he remembered his brother went away, even his own self loathing about the choices he was making had gone away. Now, he not only enjoyed the rush he got from a good score, but he actually felt sort of proud of what he could do.

Was this what it was like to have true friends? Did they make you forget about how broken you were? Did they make you feel like you belonged somewhere? Like people wanted you around?

That feeling of belonging was too addictive, too hard to resist and he let himself get lost in it. He let himself feel happy, even though it meant putting aside his quest to find his brother. It didn't matter to him that they were crooks and criminals. They accepted him. They cared about him. They were his family.

Of course, it was only when he thought nothing could go wrong that fate decided to intervene in his life once again.

Months back, right after he had arrived at Saffron Hill, he received a call from Officer Taylor informing him that Ms. Hannigan was no longer his social worker, that his case had been handed over to Ms. Honey. When the soft-spoken social worker arrived a week later to check up on him, she promised that she would do everything she could to find him a family to stay with. Killian wasn't going to hold his breath.

As it turned out, Ms. Honey was possibly the first adult who had managed to keep their word. Unfortunately, this was the one time he wished she hadn't. Not now when he had found friends, a home even, and he was happy.

Now he would have to start all over with nothing. Just like Liam, he was losing the people he cared for again. It was his first introduction in the realities of the system, and one that he would learn over and over and over, but it wasn't the first time life had taught him that particular lesson: _Nothing good ever stays._

….

On the drive from Saffron Hill in the suburbs of Chicago to Madison, Wisconsin, Ms. Honey informed him of his new situation, with an added word of warning. "You know, Killian, I know it's hard to get moved just when you started to settle in. But I promise you, this is for the best. Saffron Hill doesn't exactly have a good reputation. You will like the Riveras. They've got a little boy who's been wanting an older brother and I think you'll fit right in."

Killian tucked his knee up under his chin, watching the world speed by the glass car window, his mood as dark as the sky outside. It was late spring-storm season-and the dark grey clouds looked as though they might lose their cargo at any moment. How could he tell her that the thought of being someone's brother again ate away at his insides, when he could barely understand it himself?

As the storm started and the world greyed out, Killian sat silent in his thoughts. Was this what he deserved for forgetting about Liam? Liam would never have done the same. How could he have let him down like that? How could he have fallen so easily back into a life of crime? He was so weak!

 _("A man who doesn't fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets, Killian," Liam told him sternly, like it was the most important lesson he could impart. "Do you know what that means?"_

 _Killian squirmed a little under his brother's intense gaze, shaking his head with stiff solemnity._

 _Pleased that his little brother was taking his words so seriously, Liam broke into a soft smile as he continued elaborate. "It means you have to be prepared to face the consequences of your inactions just as much as your actions."_

 _It had been a hard day for them both; Captain Pike in a mood over the last shipment of silks not netting him as much as he had expected. He had taken the loss out on his crew in turn. Naturally, Killian was feeling raw and vulnerable, and in that state, all his fears tended to overwhelm him. He couldn't help but ask about their future-a topic he rarely broached, as it tended to upset his brother. Instead of getting angry, though, Liam had merely gathered up his little brother into his arms while Killian looked at him like he hung the moon. Though his body had yet to gain the developed muscles and broad chest of his later teen years, to Killian, Liam's arms were the strongest, safest place he knew. Even the sting of the lash burns and the bruises on his cheeks faded into a dull sensation when his brother's calm presence surrounded him._

 _Killian stared up at his brother with complete adoration. He could only hope he might be as smart as Liam when he reached his teens. Vowing to himself that he would always commit his brother's words to heart so that he could make him proud, he squeezed his brother's chest tighter as Liam rubbed soothing circles over his shoulder, mindful to not touch his back. It occurred to him, then, to wonder who it was that eased his brother's pain, because he knew full well that Liam had even more cuts and bruises than him._

" _Don't worry, Liam," Killian told him, deciding that the best way to make his brother proud was to always be brave. "I won't stop fighting, I promise.")_

…..

The Riveras were a perfect little unit-a caring mother, kind father, and a loving young son-everything a family should be, everything that he should want, and for some reason, he was miserable. He told himself it was because he missed his friends, he missed his brother, and he missed the life he had lead at Saffron Hill. But if he was honest with himself, the real reason he was miserable with the Riveras was that he knew they were too good for the likes of him. He wasn't worthy of such a family. He had committed crimes and enjoyed it. A person like that doesn't deserve to be treated with kindness.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to leave.

Something inside him told him he owed it to Liam to give this 'family' thing a proper go. Maybe he didn't deserve it, but this was his last chance at proving he could do things the right way. Good form and all of that. No more stealing, no more lying. He had to leave it all behind. It was the only way to make up for what he had done. He even resumed his contact with Officer Taylor, who informed him that he still had no leads on Liam's location.

So he stayed. And he tried to make it work. But in a lot of ways, he had never felt so deeply, deeply broken. All the thoughts and pain and loneliness he had managed to push away when he was at Saffron Hill came back full force. It felt like he was losing Liam all over again, one small memory at a time.

Every morning, he'd wake up in a bed that was uncomfortably soft and luxurious, and stared at the way the dawn light through the curtains cast dappled shadows on his ceiling, trying to remember what his brother's smile looked like. Objectively, he could see it-the slight uptick in the corner, the way a broad grin would cause him to have dimples that were identical to his own-but it was like he couldn't remember all the details correctly. Was the mole on his brother's left cheek or his right? Were his eyes more the color of the sky or the sea? Was his laugh more a chuckle or a guffaw?

To make matters worse, he felt more like an imposter here than he had working with Fagin to con people out of their money. It was only a matter of time before they saw him for who he really was, saw the worthless slave, the mess-up, the _villain_.

Now, more than ever, he just wished his brother would come back.

In consideration for the kindness the Riveras had shown him, he tried to be happy. And by all rights, he should have been. He had his own private room, his own brand-new clothes, books and toys, even his own skate board. He always had more than enough to eat, including such indulgences as soda and candy. And the Rivera's never beat him or talked down to him or made him feel unwanted. Truthfully, they treated him better than anyone ever had before, accepting him as a member of their family without a moment of hesitation. In fact, when they went out in public, he wasn't introduced as "our foster child," he was simply Nate's older brother.

(It seemed like those were days that his body twitched with the urge to run so strongly, that he was nearly out the door before he came to his senses. But he knew he couldn't run away, not if he was trying to prove he had left the darkness behind him. His head knew his best chance at a good life was here, but his heart would not be settled. _Nothing good lasts,_ it reminded him. Instead, he fortified the walls around his heart, plastered a smile to his lips and decided to make the best of the situation.

He excelled at school, pouring all his focus into his studies, losing himself in the monotony of it all. Surprisingly, he found himself reading for enjoyment again and was also surprised how well he had taken to math without Dodger's constant complaints about how useless it all was. He charmed his peers and even made new friends. It was a new place, a fresh start, he reminded himself constantly. This time, he was determined to do the right thing, not just for Liam and his new family, but for himself as well. The first time he got back an assignment with a bright red 'A' splashed across the top of it, he smiled the entire rest of the day. It wasn't until he was heading back to the house, and he realized he was looking forward to telling Liam about that the smile fell off his face. After that, the grades didn't seem to hold as much excitement for him.

(He still secretly squirreled away each and every one of his papers just in case one day he got the chance to show them to his brother, even though he would never admit that was what he was doing.)

Killian even dated, and, much to his surprise, he enjoyed it. Pretty girls with soft skin and warm lips were a very nice distraction. But his one rule was that he would never let them get close. His walls kept them firmly in their place and away from his heart. It wasn't like they seemed to mind. In fact, the more cold and mysterious he was, the more they seemed drawn to him. That seemed to be the general rule for most social interactions-" _Tell them nothing, and you can have them believing anything_ ," as Fagin had said.

Yet, for all that he appeared to be happy and content outwardly, inwardly was another matter. Inwardly, his mind played all his greatest failings on a loop, just like the movies he used to watch with Dodger. It was the old wounds, the old scars breaking open. Only, now there was a new voice that just wouldn't go away. It kept asking him why Liam hadn't found him yet, why he hadn't come back for him. It told him that maybe it didn't matter if he was good enough, that the damage had already been done. It told him that Liam didn't want him anymore, if he ever did.

And every day it got louder and louder.

There was only one person for whom he couldn't keep his guard up, one person who silenced the voices and the pain-his 6-year-old foster brother, Nataneal. The little lad was always happy and openly loving, his tender heart unspoiled by the ills of this world (or of any world). Killian vowed he would never give the boy reason to lose that innocence. That a boy like him deserved all the happiness he never had. If there was one thing he could do right, it was to make sure Nate was safe. Maybe he couldn't be the older brother the lad deserved, but he was determined to protect him with all his might.

Unbeknownst to him, little Nate was good for Killian, too. It was impossible for him to feel lonely or sad whenever the boy would turn his wide brown eyes upward to his older brother and smile. Around him, Killian was able to let the mask slip, to be himself. And that was enough for him, enough to keep him happy and make him keep trying.

About five months after he had arrived at the Riveras, Killian found himself once again falling to the lad's charms and tucking him in like he did almost every night. "Tell me a story, 'Lian," Nate begged, snuggling in under his Batman sheets and leaning his head against Killian's chest.

He swallowed hard, trying to calm his racing heart. This little kid didn't know how much these little gestures caused him to ache with memories of doing this very same thing with his own brother. How could he, when all he had ever known was peace and security?

Pushing those sad thoughts away, he focused back on the little boy looking at him with pleading in his big brown eyes. "Alright, mate," Killian agreed readily. "How 'bout I tell you a fairy tale?"

A little crease formed between Nate's brow. "Those are for girls."

Killian huffed. "Where did you get that idea?"

Nate just shrugged and began playing with Killian's sleeve, his tiny fingers wrapping and unwrapping themselves around the cuff of his blue flannel shirt.

With a sigh, Killian said, "How about if I tell you a story about pirates, then?"

"Really?" Nate asked, flashing that impossible-to-resist smile up at him.

"Aye," Killian grinned back. "And not a fairy tale. A true story."

"But pirates aren't real," Nate pouted.

With a mock scowl, Killian placed his hand over his heart and waggled his wayward eyebrow, "I beg to differ, mate. You're talking to one."

Giggling, Nate scrambled up to his knees, poking Killian in the side. "You aren't a pirate! You're just a kid like me."

Though he smiled back, Killian was suddenly assaulted by a wave of darkened memories. Nate must have sensed it, because all of sudden, he got very still and his lips turned down into a frown. Killian barely noticed, the shades of his past all he could see. "I wasn't always just a kid like you. I grew up aboard a ship. Me and my older brother, Liam. We travelled all over."

Nate's voice was a timid whisper. "You had a brother? Where is he?"

"Gone," was all Killian could manage. His eyes focused on the moon outside Nate's window. Maybe Liam was looking at the moon right now, too. Maybe he was even thinking about his little brother. Or maybe not.

"Do you miss him?"

"More than anything," Killian whispered.

Nate snuggled in and wrapped his arms around Killian's chest. "I'm sorry, Killian."

Killian blinked back the wetness in his eyes, as he took several steadying breaths. He hadn't cried over his brother's loss yet, and he wasn't about to start now. "'S alright, mate."

For several long minutes, they just laid there, Killian with his memories of his past and Liam wrapped around his chest like a hug. Finally, Nate broke the silence and looked up at him. "Where all did you go sailing?"

This at least was something Killian could talk about. He hadn't ever spoken to anyone in this world about the land he came from and suddenly he found himself desperate to share. "Oh, well, we once travelled to the kingdom of Nod. Everyone there took a three hour nap during the day, and they wore these long fluffy robes around instead of normal clothes."

"That's funny!" Nate laughed, bright and full of childhood innocence. Killian's own heart felt lighter, too. "I want to go there someday. Where else did you go?"

"I travelled to Blefuscu where all the people were so tiny, you could fit a dozen of them in the palm of your hand. We once went to an island called Thrinakia that was home to nothing but cows. On a small remote island called Berk, I saw people riding dragons as if they were horses."

"No way!"

Killian winked and gave Nate a little tickle under his arm. "Aye, it's the truth, I swear. I've seen magic and wonders the people of your world would never believe."

"Killian? What do you mean 'your world'?"

"Nothing, mate," he replied quickly, his finger scratching at his ear, "just a slip of the tongue, that's all. Now, why don't you go to sleep?"

"But I want to hear about the pirates," the boy cried, his pout and pleading eyes impossible to resist.

Killian sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. This kid knew just how to play the cute card and it was a bit disconcerting to say the least. "Very well. When my brother and I were young, we were captured by a group of pirates. They took us in and trained us so that when we were older, we could be pirates just like them." It was close enough to the truth; the merchant sailors were as ruthless as any pirate he'd ever heard about. He just omitted the part about it being his choice.

"Did you learn to sword fight? Did you have a parrot?"

"I learned a great many skills." _Like how to scrub decks and mend sails and clean fish and empty chamber pots,_ he thought bitterly. He hugged the boy to him as the memories threatened to drown him. At least this kid would never have to live a life like his. Trying his best to make his voice not crack, he nuzzled the boy's hair and said, "And parrots would be quite a silly thing to have aboard a ship, don't you think?"

"I like parrots. They're funny." Nate answered mid-yawn.

Killian looked down to see that the boy's eyes had closed and his little chest was rising slowly up and down. "Indeed they are. Sleep, Nate," he whispered, kissing the boy's head in what felt like a farewell.

"'K. Night, 'Lian," he slurred. "Love you."

It was like someone had doused him in cold water, and it was all Killian could do not to run from the house right then. His hands shook, his heart hammered in his chest, and all he could hear above his racing pulse was those two words repeating. _Love you. Love you. Love you._

That overwhelming sense of panic, the one he hadn't in over a year, was threatening to claw its way out of him and it was all he could do not to run out of room to escape it.

He knew then that couldn't stay here any longer. If he stayed, he risked loving this boy back, and then, sooner or later, Nate would see the truth about him. He would see how loathsome he was, how shameful, and then he would leave him. Or maybe he'd be thrown out. It didn't matter. Either way, he'd be alone again and this time, he didn't think he had the strength to put back the pieces of his shattered heart.

His mood growing darker by the second, he finally had to admit the truth to himself. Liam never came looking for him because his brother must have realized what his father did years ago-that they were all better off without him. He had to leave before they could break him, before he lost what little pride he had left in himself. It was also time to stop waiting for his brother to come back.

It was time to start looking out for himself.

The next day, Killian walked right up to the biggest, meanest kid in school and called him a coward, earning him a reputation as a 'psycho badass,' three broken ribs, a broken nose, and a visit by a completely confounded Ms. Honey. Two days later, despite the protests of his foster family, he was on his way to a new home.

Just before he left, though, he turned to Nate, squatting down and looking at him square in the eye so he could understand the truth in his words. "Nate, I'm sorry I have to leave, but it's for the best, believe me."

"Why, 'Lian?"

Killian couldn't hide anything from this little lad, including his tears. "You don't want someone like me as your brother, I'll only disappoint you. You deserve someone who is better, someone who you can proud of."

"I am proud of you," Nate refuted, his little fist closed around Killian's shirt as if by his strength he could force him to stay. He even tried smiling, knowing his older brother was unable to resist any request he made when he smiled. "You're a pirate and you tell good stories." But Killian knew it was too late, and his mind was already made up.

Gently, he unwrapped the boy's hand from his shirt. "I'm sorry," was the only thing he could manage.

Then, softly, Nate's own tears began to fall. "But I don't want a different brother. I love you."

And though it hurt him more than anything he had ever had to do in his life, he knew exactly what he needed to say. It would be far better for Nate to hate him than to keep loving him. That, he had learned the hard way. "I...I'm sorry, lad, but you could never be my brother. I only have one brother, and his name is Liam."

Killian knew then that the lad's heart-wrenching sobs that followed his goodbye would haunt his dreams for years to come.

After that, he vowed to never tell a soul the truth about his past, to never let anyone get that close again. If anyone asked, he would tell them the basics-mother: _dead_ ; father: _a right bastard_ ; brother... _gone_. He would never embellish, never stop them from forming their own opinions about him. They didn't need to know the truth because they didn't need to know the real him. Getting close to anyone only led to pain.

He was better off alone.

* * *

 **Yes, I might have turned Killian into Oliver Twist just a little bit. Nate and the Riveras are entirely my own.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N- THIS CHAPTER. This was a beast, let me tell you. I have reworked and rewritten this one so many times, and I don't know if I'm 100% good with it, but I literally had to just let go. I think my beta, Mryddinwilt, must have the patience of a saint. I think she must have read through this whole thing at least three times or more trying to help me work out the kinks. BLESS YOU!  
Anyway, I know I promised you less angst. Sorry. But there are happy moments in here, I swear. And...what you've all been waiting for...EMMA. So, enjoy. **

**And as always, thank you SO SO SO SO MUCH for all the reviews and love and everything...seriously, I needed that to get through this. There's some fun stuff coming up in the next chapter and some lovely CS goodness, so stay tuned!**

* * *

 **Chapter 6: The Sanctuary**

Home after home after home-until that word held no meaning for him. His life dissolved into a torment of movement. He supposed it should have made him happy. Not having any connections was what he had wanted after all. But instead, all he felt was empty.

Three years of his life entrenched in the foster care system turned out to be little different than what it was aboard the ship. While he was technically 'free,' in this realm, Killian was considered too young to have any real say in what his life entailed. The house parents at the group homes looking after him tended to be harassed, lazy, stupid, or sometimes just plain cruel–very few treated him with kindness. More often than not, they treated him much the same as his old Captain and First Mate. The only real difference was now with no one to stop him, he was more prone to fighting back with either his mouth or his fists.

It was only the very small (and dwindling) hope that Liam might come for him that kept him from running away and taking his chances on the streets again. Soon, though, it would be over. Once he reached the age of eighteen, he would no longer be subject to the rules of the foster care system and he would finally be free to make his own path. And it was terrifying.

Killian had no idea what he wanted to do. Having been so long under the command of others, he had never really given thought to what his future might entail.

Except... _once_.

 _("Before you know it, you're going to be a man, so I'm just trying to prepare you. Cause then you're going to answer life's big question: What kind of man are you want going to be?" Father asked, the flashes from the storm lighting up the shadows over his face. He was serious, but smiling gently._

 _It felt like a big question, one he should take very seriously, and Killian frowned, thinking about what kind of answer he should give. But really, the answer had been obvious._

" _I want to be just like you." Killian replied.)_

There was so much pressure to figure out your whole life when you were young, it felt as if some days, he was slowly being suffocated. No less than ten school counsellors asked him what he wanted to do after high school. While other kids talked of college or careers, Killian didn't consider that to be an option. This realm's emphasis on doing what made you happy was incomprehensible to him. He would consider himself lucky to be able just to survive.

Where he had come from what you became was not usually a matter of choice but a matter of what kind of family you had been born to. Liam and Killian Jones, having no family to speak of, were of the more _unfortunate_ bent. Had they somehow managed to pay off their debt, they would have likely had to chose between apprenticeship in a trade or joining the royal military. Unfortunately, learning a trade was out of their purview, for having spent most of their life at sea they were fit for little else. They had amassed no other skills outside of seafaring (and the standard teaching of reading star charts, counting goods, and how to follow orders), and had no money or family connections to provide them with any better. Not that seafaring was bad, but it didn't allow much in the way of wives or children or time spent in leisurely pursuits. On the other hand, if they had joined the military, they most likely would have been lifelong grunts or footsoldiers. Rising to the officer ranks seemed like an unreachable fantasy.

Yet every time a counsellor would ask him about what he wanted to do, Killian would inevitably say "military," figuring that it seemed to be the most plausible choice. They never seemed to argue it, at least. All he would have to do then was to pretend to be interested in whatever packet of information they offered him, tell them just how keen he was to serve his adopted country (they still all thought he was British by birth), and they would let him go without any further meddling.

Besides, he already had his social worker, Ms. Honey, for that anyway. She was probably the only person in this world or any other who cared about his sorry self, which surprised him, to be honest. She kept trying to place him in a good home, but with his record, none would take him, and he never made any efforts to change their minds. In fact, he had even earned a reputation for being in more fights than any other kid on Ms. Honey's roster.

Though he could see the strain his actions had put onto her sweet, honest face, he long ago forced himself not to care, telling himself that it was her fault for continuing to hold out hope for someone like him. It was that or let the guilt eat away at him until he made himself sick over it. Soon, he'd turn eighteen and age out, then he would no longer be her burden and she could finally be free of him and the messes he had caused. She'd be better off without him.

Just like Liam.

Liam. His absence still cut like a knife, but Killian had started to become used to the sharp, bitter sting. It seemed like fitting punishment for his misdeeds. And though there were some days he wanted to be angry at Liam for abandoning him, most days he just couldn't. How could he when his brother was right to leave him? He had always felt like he was holding his brother back from finding his own happiness, and now, without Killian weighing him down like an anchor, maybe he had a chance to find it.

Killian held out no such hope for himself.

Liam had always warned him that he should watch himself. He had seen the way Killian slid so easily into darkness after their father had left them. The depression, the lashing out, the anger even as a young kid. But back then, it never consumed him like it did now, not with Liam to pull him back from the edge. Not anymore. Somedays, it felt like anger was all he had ever known. Anger at his father for starting the mess that was his life. Anger at the adults who had beat and berate him. Anger at the other kids who had taunted and harassed him. Anger at the universe or fate or whatever for bringing him to this bloody stupid realm and leaving him all alone.

 _Gods, the anger inside him._ Fire. Black, boiling fire and destruction.

But it was when he was being completely, utterly, horribly truthful with himself, that Killian knew who he was most angry at was himself. He had done the thing he had sworn never to had given up trying to find the one person in all the realms that had truly loved him.

When was the last time he actively looked for his brother? Though he still had Officer Taylor's number, he hadn't called him since he lived with the Riveras. Calling would mean he might learn the truth once and for all-either Liam was really gone and never coming back, or he had been looking for Killian all this time and Killian was too much of coward to do the same. So every time he saw that bloody card, his hand shook so much, he would end up shoving the card right back into the back pocket of his duffle bag and pretending the bloody thing didn't even exist.

Of course, this was usually followed by a round of vicious self destruction, in one form or another, as had become his customary way of dealing with things. Night after sleepless night he tried whatever he could to drown out his torment.

First, there was the drinking. On his fifteenth birthday, Dodger took one look at his bedraggled face and promptly told him to follow him. Killian remained sullen as they walked, reminded that this would be the first birthday Liam didn't rouse him from his bed at the crack of dawn,then taking the piss out of him for half a day and ending it gifting him some sort of treat he had managed to secret away. He and Dodger wound up at a gas station where the other boy prompted him to take whatever bottle of alcohol he wanted while he distracted the cashier. Once he spotted the rum, he couldn't resist. Grabbing two bottles, Kilian shoved them down into the pockets of his baggy jeans and made for the door. Several hours later, he was retching his guts out over a toilet, trying to stop his head from spinning. When he could think again without his brain threatening to slice out his skull, Killian realized that the rum was the closest thing to reminding him of home that he had yet found.

Girls came next. He had learned about his appeal to them when he had lived at Saffron Hill, using it to his advantage while making off with their daddy's money. Actually dating them, though? He was completely and utterly clueless, turning into a blushing, stammering fool at the merest hint of sincere connection, which was probably why he kept himself from forming any.

He chose instead to indulge purely in the physical. All he had to do was throw a pretty girl a smouldering glance, roll his tongue suggestively, and waggle a brow and they tended to fall all over themselves to take care of his needs. During the long, hot summer of his sixteenth year, he lost his virginity to a red-headed Senior. Thankfully, she knew what she was doing- it was painfully obvious he didn't have a bloody clue-and wasn't at all shy in telling him exactly what she wanted. Caught up in how good she was making him feel, he was only too happy to comply, and he spent several nights learning just how to please a woman before he got moved to a new home.

After that, he became addicted to being lost in the sensations of warm bodies rutting together. He only had one rule and that was to never sleep with a girl more than once. For most of them, it wasn't an issue. As long as he was upfront with them, made sure they knew what they were getting themselves into with him, and never forced his affections on any of them, he felt no guilt about his actions. And companionship was never lacking.

He just had to make sure his heart was tucked firmly away and never got involved.

The longer he stayed in the system, the harder he had to try and distract himself from the anger and the pain. The stealing progressed, so did the fighting, the drinking and the sleeping around. None of it was working to heal his tortured soul. Spiraling the way he was, he was extremely fortunate that his stunts hadn't landed him in any serious trouble with the law so far. However he had no illusions that sooner or later he would do something there would be no coming back from.

(But maybe that was exactly what he was trying to do.)

…...

By the time Ms. Honey informed him he was being placed into the home of Ingrid Frost, Killian was a bitter, hardened seventeen-year-old. Three years of life in the system had taken its toll, and he was like a piece of shale-hard, brittle, and ready to crack.

According to Ms. Honey's description, Ingrid's home seemed like it would be no different than any of the other countless group homes he'd grown accustomed to. No doubt she would turn out to be just another in a long line of uncaring adults. He could already picture how it would be-she'd be the lonely, sad, possibly lazy type, leaving her kids to their own devices while she sat on the sofa and watched television. It probably wouldn't take much effort to have her wrapped round his finger, a skill he had picked up from Fagin and Dodger, and had honed to perfection. Hell, if he played his cards right, she'd probably give him the keys to her car and the contents of her wallet before watching him make for town. It's not like it hadn't happened before.

Either way, he was sure she would be no different than any of the others. Maybe he'd last a week or two, make a few decent scores, shag a few pretty girls, have some real fun before he'd get moved again. If he was lucky, he'd be able to keep himself moderately distracted for as long as he was there, and then...he'd move on. And the cycle would begin again.

From the moment he stepped out of Ms. Honey's car, he could sense Ingrid might be more of a challenge than he was expecting. As introductions were made, he watched how her calm blue eyes never gave an inch of her thoughts away but somehow still remained intensely focused on him, as if she was trying to pick him apart piece by piece. Shrewd, was the word that came to mind. For some reason, it pleased him. He did love a challenge.

After blustering through the initial orientation with Ingrid-where he spent his time wondering what a woman with such striking beauty was doing as a foster parent of all things-he put on his cockiest attitude, and hoped that she wouldn't press him to 'open up' or some such thing. However, all she did was give him a side eye and completely ignore his attitude as she introduced him to the other children under her care, never missing a blink.

Time to move this game to the next level.

A few hours later, after dinner with his new 'family' was over and all the other children were off in dreamland, Killian decided to see what this town had by way of amusement. He also needed to refresh his dwindling supply of Captain Morgan's. Jack Ingrid's car and driving away from the city lights, getting a little buzzed, and staring at the stars certainly had a lot of appeal. Richland, Minnesota wasn't any sort of major metropolis, so he had a feeling the stars look especially big and beautiful out here. They always had a way of making him feel more settled, the one thing that had remained constant in his life, no matter where he found himself.

(A part of him also was itching to scan the city streets for a set of broad shoulders, a pair of pale blue eyes, and a mop of curled brown hair, though he was only half aware of it.)

However, his fantasies dissolved into nothing as he dropped to the ground outside his window. Before he could stand, he was blinded by a burst of white light. From its source, came Ingrid's melodic voice.

"Leaving already?" She asked casually, as if she were remarking on the beautiful summer weather.

"Thought I'd explore my new home," he replied, spitting out the last word like a curse.

"Oh, well in that case," she said, and now that his eyesight was returning, he could see that the torch she held in her hand was pointed directly at his face, "don't let me stop you."

 _As if this woman could stop him,_ he scoffed. She was far too pretty and soft spoken to have what it would take to bring him to heel. Still, he noted the completely relaxed posture and the cool indifference in her eyes and knew she wasn't joking about letting him go. Did she really not care what he did? Well, that was new.

(And he was still just standing there, not leaving, hands in his pockets and his left brow raised in challenge.)

Being caught under her intense gaze, he squirmed, feeling a bit like an insect under a particularly hot magnifying glass. What was she playing at? What was her game? Why would she offer to help him run away?

As if in answer to his questions, she said, "Here," and turned off the torch, flipping it around so the end was held it out to him and the light shining back on her. "You should take this. You don't want to get lost."

Was this lady crazy? This had to be some sort of trick.

"I don't need your bloody light," Killian growled, "I can manage quite well on my own."

"No, you're right," she shrugged, retracting her proffered gift. "I bet you could find your way around town with your eyes closed if you tried."

"And what if I decide to just keep going? Will you call the authorities and have me arrested?"

"No," she answered, but then seemed to think better of it. "Well, not tonight. I'd have to call them in the morning, when your bed turns up empty. But I guess I could give you a few hours head start. If that's really what you want." She turned aside to walk past him back in the house, barely sparing him a glance as she went. The way she had told him what she was going to do with such nonchalance was making his head spin. Reservations aside, he was starting to feel a bit curious about this woman.

As she opened the door to go back inside, she paused and added, "You don't really strike me as the running kind, Killian. Besides, I don't think what you're looking for is out there, anyway."

Despite how muggy and warm the night was, he hugged his jacket closer, like her words sent chills through him. What if she was right? What was he looking for anyway? His brother? A home? Just some bloody peace of mind?

He hadn't moved at all, his head still debating what to do next. "It's not in there, either," he answered in a voice straining to be heard over the rustle of wind through the leaves of the maple tree flanking the driveway.

"You're right, it's not." She came back down off the porch, until she was standing right next to him. Cautiously, like she was afraid he'd run off, she lifted her hand and slowly placed it on his arm. "Killian, you don't have to tell me what it is you're looking for, but maybe, while you're searching, you could let me help you." Then, she left him alone, the night's breeze his only company.

Killian looked out at the empty street, the sleepy houses and the start of the town beyond, all quiet in the dewy haze of a summer evening. It made him yearn for that same simplicity this town had. Getting away had become his default, something he did to keep his personal demons from catching up to him. But it had never really brought him the happiness he craved. Maybe here he could try something different.

When he went back inside, Ingrid was sitting on her white sofa, sipping a mug of something warm with another placed on the coffee table beside her. She gave him a smug look and then nudged the extra mug towards him. The message was clear enough-this round went to her. Somehow, she'd known all along what he would choose. Bugger all. This was going to be a lot harder than he had anticipated.

He opened his mouth to inform her that he didn't need her to look after him, but the words wouldn't come. Her eyes were open and sincere, the same with the gentleness in her voice. But as he stared longer he could see that there was something she was hiding, some hidden sadness, and for some reason, it made him feel like he could trust her.

"I suppose, m'lady, that I could accept your hospitality. For now." He added, trying to make it clear this was a trial run only and he wouldn't hesitate to follow through with his original plan should anything go amiss.

She grinned, the sadness giving way to genuine amusement. "Well, I haven't been called m'lady for a long, long time, so that's a point for you. Come on, I made you some cocoa. I wasn't sure what you liked but I figured you can't go wrong with chocolate, right? Then...then we'll see what tomorrow brings. Okay?"

Slowly, he lowered himself down onto her sofa, picking up the offered mug and swirling its contents warily. "Perhaps you have some rum you could throw into that? My supplies seem to have run out." He asked, only half joking.

She rolled her eyes at him, but the humor didn't leave her eyes. With a smirk at her that promised he'd at least try to behave himself, he sipped at the cocoa. He refused to acknowledge that the woman knew how to make a bloody good cup of hot chocolate, so he merely stared at the wall and drank in silence, his thoughts at war with his instincts.

Though it went against his better judgment, he had to admit that she was starting to grow on him. She wasn't sugarcoating anything, wasn't promising that he'd fit right in or that he'd have a family here. He liked that she didn't try to convince him that everything would be just fine and dandy. She felt real. She made it seem like she was someone who truly understood him. And that was something entirely new as well.

….

If he had thought living with Ingrid would be easy, he was quickly proved wrong. He could tell she cared about him, but that didn't mean she the easiest person to live with. Sometimes, she could get downright vindictive, especially when he would slip back into old habits. Killian found that he enjoyed pushing her buttons, and she liked to push his right back. By the time he started his Senior year, he was feeling happier and more comfortable with himself than he had ever been.

"Are you going to school today, Killian?" She asked, dodging out of the way of one of the younger children who was frantically searching for his misplaced homework.

"Thinking about it," Killian replied, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and lifting his book higher.

She pulled a paper from under his boot and handed it off to the boy. He gave her a look of relief and Killian an angry glare before dashing out the door. She watched him go with a sigh before turning back to him. "Well, perhaps you could make up your mind a little faster, as you're going to be late and then I'll have to drive you. Again."

"But I do so enjoy your company, m'lady." He said with a salacious wink that he'd picked up from watching too much daytime TV at one of his foster homes.

Her eyes narrowed as she placed her hands on her hips. "Save it. Get your butt in gear, mister, or I'll tell Sammy he can sleep in your bed. And I'll make sure to get him a Big Gulp before he goes to sleep."

Killian blanched at the implied threat. Six-year-old Sammy, while generally a fun little lad who liked toy cars and Ninja Turtles, had a very unfortunate habit of wetting the bed. He had no doubt she would go through with her threat, too, just to spite him. "Bloody hell," he grumbled, searching for his backpack and quickly making his way towards the front door.

"I heard that!" She shouted back.

As he took his seat with the other kids on the bus, he ran a hand through his growing mop of dark hair and grinned to himself, ignoring the warmth he felt in his chest.

Later that week, he came home late after a night out with some nameless cheerleader to a rare sight. The house was mercifully empty, devoid of all the other foster children who were normally underfoot and in his way. Killian grabbed an apple from the bowl on the counter and flopped onto the sofa. Closing his eyes, he sighed into the cushions, allowing himself a brief moment of peace as he ate his snack.

"Don't fall asleep with that in your hand! Go throw it away." Ingrid called, appearing right over his shoulder and startling the life out of him.

"Bugger off!" He snapped with no real venom, as she slapped him playfully on the shoulder and grabbed the apple core from his hand.

"Don't swear, Killian," she called out, walking towards the kitchen.

He closed his eyes again and grumbled, "That wasn't a swear."

"Yes, it was," she countered, coming back and dropping down next to him on the sofa. "Now, aren't you wondering where everyone is at?"

He didn't even bother opening his eyes, not interested in playing her games. He was tired and just wanted to bask in the solitude. A house devoid of frenetic pre-teens, excitable grade schoolers, and a stray high schooler or two was not to be wasted. "Not in the slightest. I'm just trying to enjoy it while it lasts."

"I sent them out to the movies with a neighbor. I have something I want to talk about with you."

There was a hint of something serious in her voice that made him finally turn and look at her. Her eyes were shadowed, and her face unreadable, but Killian could guess what she wanted to tell him. This was it, she was done with him at last.

He slid off the couch in a blind rage. "Don't bother," he spat. "I'll get my things-"

"No!" She called, catching hold of his arm. He spun to look at her, a frown deeply etched into his brow and his jaw clenching furiously. "No, Killian," she restated with an apologetic smile, sensing how he had mistaken her words.. "I'm not sending you back."

"You're not?"

She patted the fluffy cushion next to her and he cautiously took his seat once more. "No, I think...I think you should get a job."

That was the last thing he had expected her to say. With a sneer, he finally replied, "A job? Why? Am I to be expected to pay for your hospitality?"

"Never," she stated so emphatically he actually believed her. She sighed and wrung her hands together and he followed the movement so that he wouldn't have to be subject to the sincere look in her eyes any longer. "I want you to get a job because I think you need to do something to make yourself proud."

"What?"

"Killian, you are an amazing kid. You really are. But you are so serious. I think you see yourself as a monster, or a villain, or something. Maybe you just think you're unloveable. But it couldn't be further from the truth."

Ingrid had always had a way of speaking to him with a rawness and passion that broke through his walls, but never as deeply as this.

"Oh, aye? And you think you know what I've done? You think you know who I am? You've no idea what my life's been like." He hissed, nearly knocking her back with the force of it.

Recovering quickly, she shook her head and said, "You're right. But you are no monster. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about." No longer looking at him, her cloudy blue eyes were trained out the picture window behind them, thoughts clearly miles away. "And you're not the only one who's done horrible things, things they have to live with every day and would give anything to be able to change. I know what it's like to live a life of regret." She sighed deeply, closing her eyes but not before he could see them welling up with tears.

He didn't think anyone except himself capable of that level of self hatred, but apparently he was wrong.

Two deep breaths, and she came out of it, reaching over for his hand as she implored, "But Killian, you're only seventeen. You don't have to beat yourself up for things you've done in order to survive. You don't need to feel so guilty about everything. You just need to be a kid. I know life's been hard for you, and I know you've done some things you aren't proud of, but it's okay. I'm not going to judge you. I just want you to be happy. I really do. And I think the first step to happiness is to be able to look in the mirror and like the person looking back at you."

Killian was speechless. No one had ever cared about his happiness, not since Liam. It should have been unsettling. It should have made him want to run or fight, anything to get away from the way he could feel her getting through his walls. But it didn't. And he suddenly realized that he wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that in every word she had told him, as bitter and painful and wonderful as they were.

Oh, how he _wanted_.

"And you think a job would make me happy?" He answered at last, his hand reaching up to scratch behind his ear.

She gave him a relieved smile and nodded. "I think that if you were able to earn money, contribute to society in some meaningful way, while having both responsibility and freedom, and- more importantly-an actual say-so in your future, then a job would help your find your place in this world. And _that_ , Killian, is what I believe would make you happy."

It was a rousing speech to be sure, but one that had him shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Sensing she had hit on a nerve, Ingrid shrugged and added, "At the very least, it will keep you busy and out of trouble."

Feeling like he was standing on the edge of a knife, Killian ran his thumb over his knuckles, studying the movement closely. Though he was still having a hard time admitting it, she was right about him. Everything she had told him about what he wanted, his deepest desires, was true. Maybe there was a reason he had never felt settled. Maybe there was a reason he was constantly at war with himself.

Maybe it was time to figure out what kind of man he wanted to be.

"Very well, m'lady," he sighed, using that endearment because he knew she found it irritating. "What sort of employment do you suggest?"

She smiled slyly. "I have a place in mind. How do you feel about flowers?"

…..

Though he'd never tell her in a million years, Ingrid was right. Working at The Secret Garden flower shop did make him feel happier. It didn't solve everything, especially not the giant Liam-shaped hole in his life, but it gave him purpose and direction. Not to mention earning his way instead of stealing it made him think that maybe there might be hope for him yet.

It was ran by a soft-spoken Indian man named Ram Dass who liked to talk about the symbolism behind flowers as if they held the meaning of life. He was kind and cheerful and completely unexpected. Most days, Killian couldn't wait to get there, taking the bus into town immediately after school and not getting back to Ingrid's until almost ten. He would help Mr. Dass sweep down the front shop and clear away any drooping flowers, then spend the next several hours unpacking refrigerated crates of roses, tulips, dahlias, and irises and putting them into the coolers for the next day. It was quiet, it was peaceful, and it was everything his life needed.

Of course, that was always when fate decided he needed a good, hard kick up the arse to remind him of just who was in charge.

…...

"Killian!" Ingrid called from the bottom of the stairs. There was a strange nervousness in her voice that he couldn't remember hearing from the typically stoic Ms. Frost. "Get down here. She'll be here soon and I want you presentable."

Killian hung his head over the railing and shouted back, "Kevin took my comb again." He pointed up to the unruly mass of dark locks sticking out in all directions from the top of his head to emphasize his point. Kevin had only been with Ingrid for two weeks and already the kid was a menace. Maybe it was time he learned not to mess with a Jones. Unfortunately, he had promised Ingrid that he'd be on his best behavior with the arrival of this new girl. For some reason, Ingrid had been acting stranger than usual, going to extremes trying to impress the girl and she hadn't even arrived yet.

He didn't really give a damn. Between work and school, it wasn't like he would be around her much. Ingrid had mostly given him free reign to come and go as he pleased, citing his improved grades and good reports from Mr. Dass about his work ethic. Not that he really needed her permission. He'd be eighteen in the Spring, and he'd have to find a way to live on his own. So he had been trying to distance himself from this life as much as he could in order to not spiral back into the darkness he could still feel lurking inside him that would no doubt rear its head once he no longer had anyone looking out for him again.

Amazingly, the job was helping achieve what he once deemed impossible-hope for a future; one carved out from the bedrock and the hardscrabble, but one all his own. He was finally able to see some sort of light at the end of his impenetrable darkness. And there were _plans_ now, too. Every penny he'd earned, he'd saved. As soon as he was out of Ingrid's, he'd find a cheap apartment to live in, and when he had graduated from school, Mr. Dass offered to take him on full time at the shop. Maybe it wasn't the glamorous life others would be happy with, but for starting out as a scum-of-the-earth cabin boy, his prospects were better than he could have ever hoped for.

Rolling her eyes, Ingrid looked up at him and shook her head. "For heaven's sakes, Killian...Take mine. It's on the dresser. Hurry up!" She called after him, as he flew across the landing. He had just picked up the comb when he heard her add, "And don't you dare touch my eyeliner!" Putting the last piece of hair in place, he darted his eyes over to her makeup case and began to smile to himself. Best behavior didn't mean he was a saint.

By the time his eyes were rimmed dark enough to rival any emo rock star, the new foster girl had already arrived and was standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by the other children who looked bored and unimpressed. Ingrid was trying to keep her excitement in check and failing comically, and the poor lass-whose face was obscured by long blonde hair- was standing there with her shoulders stiff and her left hand wrapped tight around her right arm.

He bounded down the last stair, slouching over the bannister trying to get a better look at the lass who'd be joining them. He was only passingly curious about this new lass, his mind mostly on the activities he had planned for later that evening. Still, he had to admit, she was easy on the eyes-even if she did hide herself behind an oversized hoodie and flannel. At a year younger or so than him, she had yet to fill out into her womanly curves, but he could see the potential there.

"Everyone, this is our newest family member. Her name is Emma Swan." Ingrid beamed.

The girl in question looked up for the first time, pushing back the blonde hair that had been covering her over one ear to reveal a heart-shaped face with a dimpled chin and wide green eyes outlined in long, dark lashes. As her eyes darted quickly around the room like a frightened rabbit, taking in the apathetic faces of her new foster siblings, he felt a pang of pity for her, knowing how awkward this sort of thing could be. However, he wasn't terribly in the mood to make her feel more welcomed, especially with the way Ingrid was already fawning all over her. Unless she was new to the system-and she didn't strike him as new-she'd no doubt be fine in time. It wasn't really any of his business, anyway.

Finally noticing his presence, the lass glanced over to where he was hiding in the shadows, and locked eyes with him. And in that moment, everything just _stopped_. There was a spark, a flare of something unnameably powerful deep in his gut when she looked at him- _really_ looked-like she was seeing straight into his soul. It almost felt like she was challenging him to a duel, or like she had read him cover to cover and wasn't sure she liked the ending. It bothered him greatly.

So, in an effort to stay on an even keel, he read her right back.

There was a look in her moss-colored eyes, a look of tempered steel wrapped in silk that he had never encountered before. Though outwardly she seemed timid and scared, there was a little flash of defiance in the way she held his gaze and quirked her brow that called out to the same part of himself. It whispered that she was different than the others.

For the oddest reason, Killian was overcome with a desire to introduce himself by taking her hand gently and kissing the back of it like Liam had taught him to do when he was in the presence of more polite society. Though he couldn't explain it, there was something about her that seemed almost... _regal_ , like she was born to a higher status than a lowly foster kid. With her smattering of freckles that played across her nose and over her pink cheeks, the way she held herself defiantly in the face of adversity, he was absolutely gobsmacked.

The girl had him spellbound; so much so that, without even noticing, he had already crossed the space between the stairs and the living room. It wasn't until he nearly tripped over a couch cushion that he realized that he had moved and was now just feet apart. Up close, she was even more disconcerting. Breaking eye contact, she blinked rapidly, and took in a quick breath, like she was trying to refocus. Ingrid was still talking to her, and he watched her reaction to the affection being offered with curiosity. When she ducked her head and clutched at her red flannel as Ingrid gave her a bright, almost tearful smile, he sensed the connection might run deeper than mere chemistry.

At once, a million questions flooded his mind- _Who the devil was this girl?_ being chief among them. Why could he tell she was just as broken in her own way as he was? Why could he sense that she, too, felt the anger and the sting of rejection? Had she known what it was like to love someone, to trust them, and then to have them abandon you? Did she understand what it felt like to have nothing and no one left?

Seeing those broken pieces of himself through the eyes of another was almost too much to bear. It was shocking to see his the depth of his own pain from the outside. Shocking and absolutely heartbreaking. He found himself wishing there was some way to change it for her, some way to make it better. Though it went against every one of his rules, all he wanted to do was ease that look from her face and see her smile.

He had a feeling it would be breathtaking.

As if she could tell he was thinking about her, Emma looked up and met his eye once more ( _so big, so green_ ), knocking the breath right out of him. What he wouldn't give to know her thoughts at that moment. Was she feeling the same pull he was? The same connection? Did it scare her as much as it scared him? At that, it felt like someone had doused him in ice water.

Suddenly, he was left reeling, wondering what had just happened to him. Whatever strange fantasy had overcome him, he knew he couldn't allow to continue. He couldn't let some girl get to him like that, not when he was _this_ close to finding some happiness in his life. Getting attached to her would only end badly and he needed to remind himself of that.

Conflicted, he abruptly turned, practically storming his way towards the front door, needing to flee from the way her gaze caused in his stomach to flutter. He had a feeling it might be easier said than done, especially if they were living under the same roof.

There was nothing for it, he'd have to stay far, _far_ away from her.

He backed out of the room as quickly as if the hounds of hell were hot on his heels, though it wasn't quite fast enough to miss Ingrid's final announcement. " _Welcome to your new home, Emma."_ -those words pummeling him like an ironic punch in the face.

As he flung open the front door, desperate to flee from the wake of terror she had caused, a shiver of anticipation and cold dread rushed down his spine. He could feel the hand of fate taunting him again. It took all his will power not to look back toward the golden-haired siren, despite being able to feel her hot gaze on the back of his neck. Instead, he clenched his jaw and fled out into the night, her green eyes haunting him no matter how hard he tried to forget.

Bloody hell, this girl would be _dangerous_.


End file.
